


Paveley Street

by Zelda148



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Post Reichenbach, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 28,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelda148/pseuds/Zelda148
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John meets a strange woman at work one day and when they get to talking he discovers she knew Sherlock. But she isn't all she seems.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surgery

"Next please." The voice rings out through the waiting room and I stand, picking my coat up off the chair beside me. I walk down a long corridor, painted a sickly, hospital green and turn into the consulting room tentatively.

"Dr Watson?"

"Yes, come in. Take a seat." He gestures to the plastic seat next to his desk. The room is arranged differently to normal doctor's offices. The desk is pushed against the wall and the patient's chair is placed adjacent to the doctor's and this makes him seem more accessible. "What's the problem then... Miss Eventide?"

He smiles, seeming genuine but it doesn't reach his eyes. I look out for signals, signal's I've been taught to find. Under his eyes are dark circles and the skin around his fingernails is torn and chewed. He runs his hands through his already ruffled hair as he waits for my answer.

"I haven't been sleeping well." My well-rehearsed lines come out naturally without a pause.

"Have you any idea why?" His tone is soft but I can detect weariness behind it, a tiredness that comes not from lack of sleep but from a deep emotional trauma.

"Stress, grief? I don't know."

"Grief, have you lost someone recently?" I can see the tinge of pain, recognition, in his eyes. He knows what I'm talking about.

"Yeah."

"How long ago?"

"Ten weeks ago." His eyes widen, shocked at the coincidence but curious about it.

"Okay, have you been taking anything?"

"I've been taking some none-prescription tablets but they haven't been working." I hate how easily the lies come. I hate lying to him: this broken man in front of me but as he looks away from me to makes notes I have to opportunity to observe him more closely.

His hands are shaking slightly and there's a purple scarf stained with what looks like blood flung over the back of his chair. His tie is hanging awkwardly, as if it hasn't been done up with any amount of concentration and his shirt doesn't fit him properly.

"Well, all I can do I'm afraid is give you some stronger tablets and you can come back in a few weeks if they don't work either." His smile this time is weak and tight, he doesn't really care anymore and he dispairs at it. He wants to care.

"Thank you, Doctor."

He writes me the prescription and hands it to me. I begin to leave but as I open the door he calls out to me.

"Who did you lose?"

"A good friend." I let my eyes well up and go hazy, as if recollecting some fond memory.

"What was his name? Her name?"

I don't know why but I decide to go against my instructions and with my instinct. It's the look in his eyes; they're not closed off now, they're begging for some connection with someone, anyone. And I can provide that connection. So I tell the truth.

"Sherlock Holmes. It was Sherlock Holmes." A solitary tear runs down his cheek and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

"Are you free later?"

"Yes." Again, I don't know why but I do exactly what I'm not meant to.

"Can you meet me, for coffee? To talk about it, him?"

"Of course."

"Do you know Alwyn's, on Paveley Street?"

"Yes. Six?"

"Yeah." His smile  _is_  genuine this time, warmer and less restricted.


	2. Alwyn's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a background for Sherlock in which he has a friend or at least close acquaintance in school. I've tried to keep it as vague as possible so hopefully it doesn't seem out of character for Sherlock to have her there. This cafe I've introduced appears in a few of my fics and first comes in in Smile Because It Happened.

I'm sat at a table nursing a cooling coffee in my hands, waiting for him to turn up. It's quarter to seven.

"Sorry I'm so late. Difficult patient." He sits down opposite me, placing the same scarf from before on the table in front of him.

"No problem."

"I'll just go and order a something. I'm starving. Do you want anything?" He eyes my half-emptied cup and sighs, the tension rolling away as he does so. He's more relaxed now, outside of work and in somewhere he's evidently comfortable.

"Just another coffee please, black."

"You not hungry?"

"I don't eat much." I shrug and drink the rest of my coffee. He walks towards the counter, familiar with the staff, making small talk about their families and jobs. His shoulders aren't hunched over anymore and I'm glad I'll have some small piece of good news to report back. He actually lets out a quiet laugh in response to something the waitress says; she's flirting with him but he doesn't notice. His shirt is still hanging off him but he's unbuttoned it at the top and taken off his tie, changing his whole demeanour. When he smiles, it reaches his eyes, wrinkles forming in the corners.

There's still that tiredness behind his eyes.

"She's going to bring it all over in a minute." He pulls the chair out and drops comfortably onto it.

"You come here often." Running my fingers across the rim of my cup, I realise I'm nervous. I don't know what I'm expecting from this exchange, or what he is. I'm dreading the consequences. It's not really a question, it's more of a statement but he answers me anyway.

"Yeah, all the time." He's studying me. They're so similar in some ways; they both study me, make me nervous. But John's so warm and open and I can't imagine him ever saying something that would hurt anyone, he'd think it through.

"It's nice."

"How did you know him?" Straight to the point, another similarity.

"School. I wouldn't say I was his friend exactly but I was more than an acquaintance. He helped me with homework sometimes and I got into more than the occasional fight for him." The waitress brings over our drinks and we thank her simultaneously.

"Same drink as him." He comments on my coffee as I add two spoons of sugar to it.

"It was my drink first." I sip it and lean back in my chair. "Perfect."

"He never told me anything about his childhood, actually, he never told me much about his life before me. Tell me more, please? How did he get into fights?" I raise my eyebrow and he laughs. "Of course, by being Sherlock."


	3. Why?

We talk for ages, ordering more and more coffee and exchanging outrageous Sherlock stories. I'm surprised to find that there's some chemistry there, not sexual but there's something. I find myself thinking that I could be friends with this man, who I've been sent to investigate, close to him. I like him.

It's dark outside when the waitress tells us they're closing and we have to leave. We stand and John wraps the scarf around his neck, bringing it to his nose to smell before he notices me watching him.

"Maybe we could do this again some time?" His question is hesitant.

"Yeah, maybe." He writes his number on the back of a napkin from his pocket and hands it over to me laughing.

"Like you're some girl I've picked up in a bar." He winks at me and starts walking away from me.

"I'll text you." I call after him and smile to myself. This would be a normal situation, a near romantic one, if it weren't for the man standing in the shadows. I ignore him until John is out of sight, rounding the corner and then wait for longer.

"You weren't meant to befriend him, Ivy."

"So?"

"So, I told you not to make friends with him."

"I don't care what you told me." He steps into the light, a few feet away from me and looks across at me. I refuse to look back at him.

"How was he?"

"I don't know Sherlock. In there he seemed okay, he was smiling and laughing, but he's heartbroken. There's this tiredness, behind his eyes. All the time."

"Oh." He sounds disappointed.

"What did you want me to say?" I look at him now, meeting his eyes and seeing something akin to confusion there, insecurity.

"You weren't meant to make friends with him." He turns. "Why did you do it?"

I walk away from this man without answering him, this man who still doesn't understand basic human sentiment.

"WHY IVY?" He shouts after me.

Speaking quietly I continue walking and respond, with the only thing I can think of. The truth.

"He's lonely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these first three chapters are short. I promise they get a bit longer after this. :)


	4. Texting

I roll over to face the curtains and the light streaming through them but my eyes, still sheltered beneath my eyelids, detect a barrier in front of the light.

"Go away Sherlock, get out of my room." I roll over again, pushing my face into the pillow and waiting to hear receding footsteps. I raise my face slightly. "Sherlock. Out. NOW!"

"I need to talk to you about something."

I sit up and scowl at him.

"About John? It can wait."

"No, it can't." He has his hands on his hips but the effect is greatly diminished by the blue dressing gown draped over his shirt.

"Yes, it can. It's bad enough you've moved yourself into my flat but you are now coming into my room and waiting for me to wake up. Line crossed Sherlock. Now GET THE FUCK OUT!"

I flop back onto my mattress and listen to Sherlock stomp out.  _Great, he's sulking now._ I sigh happily anyway and wrap myself in my covers, loving the feeling of being between awake and asleep. I begin to drift off again and the room fades away until I'm on the brink of consciousness.

Then the gunfire starts.

"FUCK SHERLOCK!" I run out of my room, quickly running back to grab a sheet to throw around myself when I remember I'm not wearing anything. "PUT THE GUN DOWN!"

He continues shooting my wall and I'm convinced that someone is going to ring the police.

"SHERLOCK!" He stops and looks at me, a pained expression in his eyes, the gun hanging by his side. "Someone will ring the police if you keep shooting things. Lestrade or Donnovan might turn up. We don't want that do we?" I speak to him as if speaking to a child but the message seems to sink in. I hold out my hand and he places the gun in it, pouting slightly. "Don't pout Sherlock, you're not six."

"Oh don't give me that Ivy, I'm not one of your pupils."

"Talking about my pupils, I have to go back to work on Tuesday."

"So?" He raises and eyebrow at me as I wander into the kitchen.

"So, if you're planning on staying here you'll have to start doing something, shopping and cleaning and such."

"Why?"

"Because Sherlock." I turn with the jar of coffee in my hand, he's followed me. "I have to work from 8 'till 5 every day and for six of those 9 hours I have to deal with hormonal teenagers and make them learn something while behaving in a mature manner. That is harder work than you may think."

"So?"

"So, I am going to need some help, my idea of a fun, relaxing time after work is not shopping, cooking and cleaning for you."

"You don't have to shop, cook OR clean for me." He looks at me blankly and pick up his violin from where it was lying on the floor.

"Don't even think about it." I glare at him, putting across the pain of my hangover in one look. "That's what I'm talking about, I'm not saying that you have to keep the place spotless but it's easy to put stuff away instead of on the floor… I realise I sound patronising but I nearly stood on your violin last night. If you'd put it away…" I let my voice trail suggestively off but he just stares at me before launching into what I'm sure will turn into a monologue.

"You nearly stood on my violin! How could you do that? It was just lying on the floor and you nearly broke it by standing on it? My wonderful violin, how could you not notice such a wonderful instrument? Do you not look around yourself at ALL when you wander round the flat? No, probably not. Never mind the flat, all the time actually, I bet you just wander around wrapped up in your own head all the time, never watching what you're doing…"

I tune out the egotistical ranting and fill the kettle up, making coffee and setting a cup in front of Sherlock without him even noticing. Pulling a box of cereal out of the cupboard, I shake it and, finding it almost-empty, take the milk out of the fridge and pour it directly into the bag. I proceed to eat the cereal out of the box while inhaling my coffee and thinking about texting John to meet for a drink later. I make myself a second cup while Sherlock keeps talking, completely oblivious to the fact that I stopped listening a while ago, his coffee cooling on the table.

Finishing my cereal and sipping at my coffee I catch the tail end of his rant.

"No one ever really observes what's going on around them, do they? I am quite alone in the fact that I notice everything." He notices my vacant expression and rolls his eyes and tuts. "See, you weren't listening to me, you were in your own head."

"Sherlock…" He glances at me, eyebrows raised. "Shut up." I stumble through to the bathroom, still wrapped in my sheet and pull the door behind me.

"We still have to talk about John."

"What about him?" I shout a muffled reply around my toothbrush, knowing he'll decipher it.

"I've been thinking…"

"Uh-oh." I Laugh to myself but he hears me.

"Not funny Ivy. I've been thinking, that since you've already made friends with him."  _I can almost_ feel  _your disapproval on that matter through the door, you dick._ "You could get closer, make sure for definitely he's okay. You could help him move on."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?" He sounds hesitant, as if he knows what I'm going to say.

"Are you suggesting that I date John… out of pity?" I put as much venom in my voice as possible but doubt he'll hear it.

"Yes. I don't see the problem."

"It's a horrible thing to do Sherlock, you shouldn't date someone for any reason other than actually, you know, liking them."

"You do like him?"

"Yes but not like that. So, no, I'm not doing that."

I open the door and look up at him. He's frowning, trying to figure out why I've said no.

""Sentiment?"

"Yes, sentiment. I like him, I'm not going to hurt him."

"Okay. But you  _will_ stay friends with him? To monitor his progress?"

"I'll stay friends with him." He grins smugly to himself but then sees my expression.

"What?"

"I'm not 'monitoring his progress'. I  _want_ to be friends with him. That's it."

I walk away, ignoring his protests and slam my door shut behind me. I get changed slowly, wondering what I'm going to do now that Sherlock Holmes has decided to use me for his human experiments and, more importantly, has moved into my flat. Sitting on the bed, I run my hands through my hair as the sound of Bach on the violin begins to float through the apartment and see my phone lying on the floor where I dropped it in my drunken state the night before. The light on the front is flashing, indicating I have a text.

**Hi Ivy. I was just wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime soon? I thought we could get a meal before you start work again? I thought it would be nice. Anyway, no pressure just ring me when you get this? Or just text me? Okay, see you soon hopefully. JW**

I chuckle to myself at his tentative style and type out a reply, pressing send immediately.

**Hi John, sounds lovely but how about we get coffee and lunch today and get a meal Monday night? Sorry I didn't reply earlier, a bit hung-over. IE**

I brush my hair and tie it back, studying my wardrobe choices before changing completely. I change from sweatpants and t-shirt into tight jeans and a vest, throwing a cardigan over my shoulders when I see the breeze in the trees through my window. Expertly I apply a small amount of make-up, just enough to cover up my hangover face. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I scan the reply, smiling as I do.

**Sounds good. Alwyn's, twenty minutes? They make a fantastic chowder. JW**

**Yeah, great, see you there. IE**

I grab my purse and keys, throwing my scarf and jacket on hurriedly and rush out of the room.

"I'm going out, I might be a while." Sherlock doesn't respond to me at all so I write the same words on a napkin and place it on the arm of the chair next to him.  _He can't miss that, can he?_

I practically run out of the house and into my car, grinning to myself like a teenage girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I kept Sherlock in character.


	5. Coffee

"Ivy, over here!" I hear John's shout from a table in the corner of the room, between the bookshelf lining the wall and the front window.

"I need coffee John." Raising my eyebrows at him with a faux serious expression I point at the counter.

"I've ordered you one."

"Brilliant!" I grin and sink into the soft armchair opposite him. "Sugar?"

He pushes the bowl of sugar towards me and chuckles as I swiftly add two spoonfuls, stir and begin to sip my steaming coffee.

"You look…"

"Terrible." I interrupt and smile at him.

"Actually, I was going to say quite good for someone who's hung-over."

"You don't have to be polite, I own a mirror, I've seen myself today." I laugh again and he relaxes.

"First coffee of the day?" He watches me as I almost drain my cup in one mouthful and picks at a pastry in front of him.

"No, third."

"Seriously? Third?"

"Yep, bad hang-over. And… I like coffee?" I shrug apologetically and look up through my lashes to see John smiling warmly at me.  _Snap out of it, no flirting._ I raise my head and eye-up his pastry.

"Pastries before lunch?" Carefully monitoring my tone so it's teasing but not flirty I mock him.

"It's eleven, it's early enough before lunch to have pastries." He responds quickly and I earn myself a little smirk from him.

We sit in the café for a couple of hours, drinking coffee and eventually eating lunch. We complain about work and chat about family and our social lives, avoiding the subject of Sherlock until the situation feels normal to, I hope, both of us. I forget about Sherlock in the moment, enjoying the company of this man who, upon our first encounter, seemed broken and barely a man but I can see the healing process in front of my eyes. He's less tense and more alert, the tiredness that once shadowed his eyes fading until it's little more than a spectre. Then my phone goes off.

**Where are you? When are you going to be back? I'm bored. SH**

"Who's that? Boyfriend?" John's questions are tentative, as though he doesn't really want to know the answers.

"I should be so lucky, no boyfriend for me." I chortle darkly. "No, it's an old friend, he's staying with me at the moment, going through some stuff and he's acting like a petulant child about it." I am cautious not to lie to him but keep my facts vague. Unfortunately I think I see his face light up when I say there's no boyfriend. "Yeah, not looking for a boyfriend at the moment, too busy." I smile at him, treating him like a confidante rather than a potential romantic interest. His face drops a bit before he puts on a well-practised façade of detachment. "I'd better reply, sorry."

"No problem, go ahead." He waves his hand in an open gesture, looking to the rest of the world as though he doesn't care but I can still see the tinge of hurt in his expression, joining the tiredness behind his eyes.  _Well done, fantastic job at not getting romantically involved with him, he likes me._ I quickly tap out a reply to Sherlock, studying my wording for a second.

**Out, I don't know and I don't care. IE**

"He probably won't leave me alone but I can ignore him." The phone buzzes on the table. I pick it up and switch it off, slipping it into my bag. "There we go, ignored. It's…" I turn and look at the china clock hanging above the door. "Almost two o'clock. How about we get one more cup of coffee." I beam cheekily at him "And go somewhere."

"Where?" He raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Anywhere!" I stand to order our drinks, feeling the caffeine overload hitting my bloodstream and shaking me out of my hung-over stupor and into an energised whirl of excitement. I practically skip to the counter and place and order for two coffees and, on a spur of the moment decision, also order a slice of devil's food cake for us to share. "To go please." I say to in a sing-songy voice to the waitress and wait for our coffee.  _Why am I so chirpy? What's gotten into me? I know it's not the caffeine although that's what I'm gonna stick with. Who cares? I'm happy, John's happy and I'll bet my bottom dollar Sherlock's pissed. So I win all around…_

"Here you go, nice to see John with someone new, he seems happier." The waitress hands over the food and drinks, I think I remember John calling her Ceri.

"He does, doesn't he."

"You're a good influence on him." She winks at me suggestively.

"Oh no, it's not like that." I count out my money, laying it on the counter with a generous tip.

"Does he know that?" She throws me a knowing look and walks away to serve another customer.

"Let's go John!" I call out to him as I walk towards the door and he follows me.

"Where are we going!? Do you even know?"

I laugh and flag down a cab.

"Movie?" I grab him hand and pull him into the cab next to me.

"Sounds good." He nods eagerly, letting himself get caught up in the spontaneity.

"Cranbourn Street, Leicester Square please."

The cab pulls away from the pavement and I grin at John like a maniac, still not sure what has come over me.


	6. After The Film

"Ivy you have THREE drinks there."

"Yeah… So?"

"You have coffee, apple juice AND a Bacardi Breezer…"

"You're right… I should have a glass of water as well." I get up to get it but John pulls me back onto the sofa, laughing. "I have to say, that was really nice."

"Glad to have someone around who appreciates my cooking."

"Yeah, Sherlock was never much of an eater was he." I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the sofa as I sink into my memories. "When he used to help me with my homework, he'd come round after school, you know, for convenience." John nods. "And I'd make dinner, he always said he wasn't hungry then would ask for something to eat later, you know, when the hormones decided he was hungry after all. So I started withdrawing food, he wasn't allowed it unless he ate dinner with me. He relented after about three months, when he finally realised that I was serious. He thought I'd give into his pestering."

John roars with laughter and picks up his drink. I copy his movements, downing the last of my coffee and then moving onto the dregs of my apple juice.

"Two down, one to go."

"I suspect, my dear Ivy, that we are drunk." I glance around at the glass bottles scattered around the floor and giggle.

"I suspect, my dear John, that you are right." I lay my head on his shoulder and let out a little burp. I dissolve into giggles again and press my face into his shirt to smother my drunken hysterics. "Oh god, my hang-over is going to be hellish."

"Probably, but we'll share the pain. Haven't drunk this much in ages, three months I would say." He nuzzles into the top of my head and his hand begins to slowly stroke my hair.

"I drank this much last night. Miss it?"

"Oh yeah." His other hand reaches for my waist and pulls me towards him.

"This is nice."

"Yeah."

We sit like that for a few minutes, his hands stroking my hair and waist, me absorbing the warmth emanating from his jumper, the soft material rubbing smoothly against my cheek. He smells like floral fabric softener and I suspect that someone else has done his washing in the last few weeks, a woman. The flat is tidy, the surfaces cleared and dust free, the only clutter our empty bottles and jackets which are laid across the back of a chair. The leather chair with its back to the window has that untouched quality that nothing else in the flat has.

"Ivy?" I look up to see John staring at me with an intense concentration.

"Yes." I meet his eyes, the colour of them startling me, I hadn't realised they have such a depth of colour. I'm mesmerised by them, dark blue, almost black around the pupils, fading into a stormy grey near the whites, the flecks of emerald across the irises highlighting the dramatic but smooth change in hue. I watch as his pupils spread across the colour of his eyes, making them appear the colour of snow clouds, not the tantalising spectrum of inky ultramarine to dusky silver.

"I miss him."

"I miss him too."

I tilt my head up towards him as he leans down, our lips meeting in a clumsy kiss. His mouth is warm and wet, his soft lips pressing against mine expertly despite the alcoholic influence. He pulls me into his lap and I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him closer to me. We tangle our legs together on the sofa, clinging to each other and kissing hopelessly. The roughness of day old stubble rubs against my chin and I can feel fatigue fighting to take over but I move it to the back of my mind. He runs his tongue across the top of mine and I gasp. Biting down gently on his bottom lip I smile when he lets out a quiet moan.

I pull away, dropping soft kisses down his neck and running my fingers across his chest. He pulls me closer as I wrap my arms around his waist and lean into him. My eyes droop with tiredness and I can feel his head resting on mine. The room dissipates until the only things I'm conscious of are the body warmth leaking into me, the arms looped protectively around me and the smell of fabric softener.


	7. Hangover Food

I awaken with a jolt due to the pounding in my head and when I fall back down into my soft mattress, I'm surprised when it's cold and hard. It's the arm of the sofa I'm lying on.

I sit up quickly, scrambling to my feet, trying to understand where I am. A blanket is draped over me and my socks have been removed.

"What the fuck is going on?" I can hear sizzling and smell something cooking.

"You're awake." John emerges from the kitchen holding a frying pan. He puts his hand over his mouth and laughs into it.

"What?" I feel zombie-like, not at all human and barely alive.

"You… you should look in the mirror." He puts the frying pan down on the worktop and wipes the tears from his eyes. "Oh that has made my day. That way." He points towards what I presume is the bathroom and resumes cooking. "Breakfast soon but if you want a shower I'll put yours in the oven."

I pick up my phone and head towards the door.

"Nah, I'll eat then shower."

"Hmm, you might change your mind." John giggles and shakes his head.

I push the door open and look around the room.  _Yep, a bathroom. Dunno what else it might have been._ I see the mirror hanging over the sink and understand John's laughter. My hair is chaotic, one side plastered to my face, one side sticking up like a pale blonde hedgehog on steroids. Pulling at my face, inspecting the circles under my eyes, raw skin around my mouth and red stain on my cheek I attempt to remember what happened the night before as I check my phone.

_Oh god, so many texts…_

**Ivy, where are you? SH**

**Ivy, seriously where are you? SH**

_We had pasta! That's where the red stain is from!_

I clean my face, as though I've got a physical tick list, I can only sort each thing once I've determined why it's there.

**Ivy, come home if convenient. SH**

**If inconvenient come home anyway. SH**

**Now! SH**

_And alcohol, we had a lot of alcohol. That's not good. It does explain the headache though._

I find myself some paracetamol and swallow them with a mouthful of water from the sink.

**Ivy, where the hell are you? SH**

**Why aren't you home yet? SH**

**Has something happened to you? SH**

_I fell asleep on the sofa, with John, okay, the hair is explained._

I rummage around in the cupboard under the sink to find a brush or comb. I find a comb and attack my hair until it lies in what could be perceived by an almost blind person as 'bed-hair'.

**I'm not kidding has something happened to you? SH**

**I'm worried now. Answer me AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS. SH**

_Oh god, I've broken him. Why was my phone off…? Movie, okay._  I decided to reply to Sherlock and let him know I'm okay before I approach the subject of my 'face-rash'.

**I'm fine, sorry to worry you. Got drunk. Will be back today. Do not however, fuck with me. Am incredibly hung-over. IE**

_Oh god…_ I've remembered why I have 'face-rash'.  _Shit, I kissed John. Not a good move, does he think we're together now? Oh shit._ I hang my head in my hands before looking for some sort of cream for my face. I don't find any.  _I'll have to ask John, that's going to be awkward._

"Breakfast-cum-hang-over-cure!" John's call floats through to me and I practically run to the kitchen, desperate for something to help my throbbing head.

"Coffee?" Unable to keep the eagerness out of my voice I slide onto a bar stool in front of the kitchen table and take my breakfast off John.

"About last night…" John coughs before he continues his sentence. "We should… probably…"

"Pretend it didn't happen?"

"Yeah, that's probably best." He smiles at me and relief floods my brain.  _Thank you, god!_

"I agree. God, am I glad we're on the same page." He lets out a sigh and nods as I speak.

"Oh, someone is coming round in a minute. It'd be nice if you met her."

"Oh yeah, who?" My phone buzzes a few times and I wave it towards John, indicating that he should continue.

"Molly Hooper, a friend, she's been… keeping an eye on me since… everything happened. I think you'll get on."

I read the text and my eyes widen in surprise.  _How… HOW?_

**You didn't worry me. SH**

**Again Ivy? That's not healthy. Tut tut. SH**

**You need to get shopping before you get home. SH**

**Stayed at John's? I must say I'm impressed by your dedication to the cause. SH**

"How do you know her?" I scoop up a mouthful of food to chew while I reply.

**I did worry you, you said so. Since when have you been sentimental Sherlock? And cocaine isn't healthy, didn't stop you. And you get shopping. And no, we got drunk and I fell asleep on the sofa. And stop bloody replying to each sentence I say in a new text. And fuck you. IE**

"Work, in the beginning but after… she pulled my out of my stupor, helped me get better. I mean, I'm not totally better, I know that but god knows what would have happened to me if it weren't for her."

"It's great you've got someone, my sisters are the same for me. They don't understand why I liked Sherlock, I don't think anyone does but they looked after me. Not that I needed it as much as you." It feels weird opening up to him about Sherlock, a previously unapproached subject, but I do it anyway.

"You have sisters?" He looks mildly surprised but not as though the fact didn't fit me.

"Yeah, three, don't know what I'd do without them."

"Lucky you." He moves his eyes down to his plate and starts playing with his food.

"You don't have any siblings?"

"Yeah, I do. A sister. We don't get on, never have. I missed this you know."

"What, eating breakfast?" My mind hasn't woken up properly yet and my phone goes off again.

**Not sentimental. SH**

**I stopped, eventually. SH**

**Fine. Because we need coffee, not for you. SH**

**Of course you did. SH**

**No, it's easier like this. SH**

**Naughty language that is Miss Eventide. SH**

I don't reply.

"No." John chuckles and I'm glad I've made him laugh, even if it was by accident. "Getting to know people normally, by talking. Sherlock always ruined this bit of making friends by deducing stuff."

The ring of the doorbell and Mrs Hudson calling up the stairs stalls our conversation.

"That'll be Molly. Mrs Hudson will probably come up for a cuppa too."

"I'll get showered then, if you don't mind. Can't be meeting new people looking like this. Oh and…" I hesitate a bit embarrassed. "You have anything for this?" I point at my chin and blush.

"Oh yeah, it's here." John pulls the fridge door open and hands me a tube of cream. "Haven't sorted everything out from when Sherlock was here… he did put stuff in strange places sometimes." He smiles at the memory and I'm reassured, he used the past tense about Sherlock and didn't even flinch. "Oh and…" He run's his hand across his chin. "Clean shaven now, any kissing will be done in relative comfort."

We both laugh and I enter the bathroom, happy with the situation, never mind how strange.


	8. Molly

I edge out of the bathroom, hair dripping but not feeling much cleaner. I have a white patch on my jaw where I've put cream on my rash and I'm in the same clothes from last night.

"Oh, hello, feeling better?" John beckons me forward and waves another cup of coffee under my nose.

"Yeah, a bit. Especially now I have EVEN MORE coffee!" I cackle dramatically and he looks at the floor, chuckling and steps to the side.

"This is Molly Hooper and Mrs Hudson." I stare open-mouthed at the two women behind John. The first is a pretty brunette who is staring at the table and the second an older woman with kind twinkly eyes.

"Hi." I give each of them a little wave and wrap both hands around my mug.

"This is Ivy, the woman I was telling you about."

The women smile at me and say hi as I slide onto a stool and sip my coffee.

"Oh god…" I grimace at them. "Whatever he's said he's probably being too generous. This is nice coffee John, different from before, better." I glance up at him suspiciously. "What have you done to it?"

"Nothing. It's different coffee."

"Why?"

"Well, you finished my coffee this morning, so this is… Sherlock's." He looks me straight in the eye and I'm suddenly aware of Molly and Mrs Hudson watching us.

"Sherlock's?"

"Yeah, it felt weird using his coffee so I bought some new stuff, left his in the cupboard."

"Oh, what made you use it now?" I frown, trying to figure out what made him use it if he'd been so eager to leave it untouched.

"You'd finished the other stuff and I knew I couldn't not give you coffee." He laughs weakly and points to the way I'm clinging to my cup.

"Oh."

I let myself sink into the background and watch John interact with the other two. Mrs Hudson looks underweight and fragile but her mental state seems normal, she doesn't fidget and she's fully connected with John when they converse.

Molly, on the other hand, appears weak. Her hair is tied loosely back and wisps have escaped but she hasn't noticed. She's wearing a thick patterned cardigan and has it pulled right across her chest so no bare skin is exposed. Running her fingers across her glass she's drawing in the condensation but hasn't drunk any of her water. Her eyes are averted and she barely speaks, responding in short sentences when spoken to.

_Oh god, she thinks she doesn't fit in and she's mourning. Or is she?_

She looks nervous and on edge but she doesn't seem sad. There's none of that tiredness to her eyes that there is in Mrs Hudson's and John's.

_Could she know? He said he'd had help but… her?_

I bring my hands in front of my face and press my fingertips together, creating a steeple with fingers. I rest my chin on the top of it and control my breathing, marvelling at what I think I've just worked out. I catch John looking at me and move my hands, wiping them on my jeans with a tight smile.


	9. Overheard Conversations

"I'd better be going, got corpses to cut." Molly attempts a joke and we laugh weakly as she stands up and thanks John for lunch.

"Actually, I should go too, my roommate will be going insane." I push my stool back and look across the table at Molly. "Where are you heading?"

"St Bart's."

"Cab?"

"Yeah, you want to share one?"

"Please Molly, I live just off High Holborn, on Chancery Lane."

"Okay, no problem. Bye Mrs Hudson, bye John." I grab my coat and kiss John on the cheek. "I had fun yesterday."

"I'll walk you to the door girls; I should be getting on with my housework."

"Ahh, you'll have peace and quiet now John." I wave at him as we all head down the stairs. We reach the door and I hug Mrs Hudson goodbye. "Nice to meet you."

"You too dear."

We leave the house and I go to pull my purse out my pocket so I can contribute to the fee but can't find it.

"I think I've left my purse upstairs, hold the cab please, I'll be back in no time." I apologise to Molly and run to grab the door before it swings shut.

"Back again already dear?" Mrs Hudson sticks her head out her flat and smiles at me.

"Left my purse." I bound up the stairs but stop when I hear John talking.

"No, I told her we should pretend it didn't happen…"

I can't hear a respond and definitely didn't see anyone else enter the flat so assume he's on the phone.

"Yeah, Greg, I do like her… Why? Because I'm pretty sure that was not a normal start to a relationship… We were talking about Sherlock then we kissed… Yeah, shit… I agree, not all relationships are normal but after everything that's gone on, well, I need some normalcy… No, I don't think it's a rebound… Because I wasn't fucking dating Sherlock, that's why."

I hear a bang and knock on the door before stepping in slowly.

"Left my purse."

"I think it's on the sofa." He points without turning and his other hand is clenched against the table, his phone lying next to it.

"We still on for dinner Monday?"

"Yeah."

He still doesn't look at me.

"Bye."

"Bye."

I run down the stairs, my head spinning, knowing I'm going to have to tackle the Molly situation before I tackle the John situation.

 


	10. The Molly Situation

"Thanks Molly." I clamber into the back of the cab next to her and hand her some money.

"Oh no, you don't need to do that."

"Yes, I do." I push the money into her hands and pull my phone out of my pocket.

**How much does Molly Hooper know? IE**

"Erm… where do you work?" Molly speaks to me but keeps her eyes down, watching her hands in her lap.

"Queen's College. I'm a psychology teacher."

"Oh, and you were… erm… a friend of Sherlock's?"

**Everything. SH**

"Not a friend really but yes, I know Sherlock."

**Why? SH**

I slip my phone back into my pocket and look back at Molly as she replies.

"You mean… knew?"

"No, I mean know. He's told me you know he's still alive." Her eyes widen and her hands stop moving for a second as what I've said sinks in.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

_You've decided to pretend, that's interesting._

"Why are you denying it? He's told me all about it." I try to coax the truth out of her but I don't have much hope.

"I've told you, I don't know what you're talking about." She turns her head, gazing out the window to avoid my eyes.

"Yes you do." I hand her my phone, the texts on the screen and she lets out a little sigh after scanning it.

"Yes, I do."

"You helped right?" Looking across at her I notice she's nervous, she's wringing her hands.

"Yes." I lean across and hug her.

"Thank you."

"Wha… what?"

"Thank you." I smile at her and chuckle. "For saving him. I mean, he's a giant pain up my ass right now but better that than the alternative."

"What do you mean?" She looks up at me as I move away but quickly looks away again when she sees me watching her.

"He's decided to live with me, so he can monitor my friendship with John." I roll my eyes and put my head back.

"Monitor it?"

"Yeah." I catch the look in her eyes and expand. "I'm not happy about it but I can't stop him. And I am not only friend with John for Sherlock, I like him."

"Good. He doesn't need that right now."

"I know… I know."

"Is he okay?"

"He seems to be but, you never can tell with Sherlock."

"No."

"Here." I hand her a card with my mobile number on it. "You can ring me if you want to talk about it. It must be hard, being the only one who knows."

"Yeah… thanks."

"Chancery Lane girls." The cab driver pulls to a stop and turns to speak to us. I push open the door and climb out waving at Molly.

"Ivy?" She calls quietly after me.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for telling me. You must know how hard it is being the only one that knows. Every time I look at John it hurts; knowing that what I know could stop all that pain but at the same time could get him killed."

"Yeah, I know. Ring me. If you ever want to talk."

"Thank you."

She raises her hand slightly off her lap and gives me a tiny wave as the cab pulls away. I watch it leave and I can see her repressing a  smile in the back as she stares out the window. 

_One down, one to go._


	11. Butterflies

"Ivy, is that you?"

"Yes it is."

I slam the door behind me and throw my purse and phone onto the sofa as I flop into it.

"Oh Ivy." He comes and stands over me, drinking in every inch of my dishevelled frame.

"Go away Sherlock."

He goes quiet but doesn't move.

"Don't." He ignores me. "Don't deduce me. Don't you dare."

My phone buzzes and I pick it up quickly, recognising that I'm hoping it's John.

**Hi, it's Molly, I just thought I should give you my number. :) MH**

_Oh._ I shouldn't be disappointed, I know this but there's a little part of me that likes the way my stomach sinks when I see it isn't him.

**Thanks Molly. IE**

"You like him don't you."

"What?" I look up at Sherlock disparagingly, wondering what he's figured out this time.

"John, you like him. More than you like to admit."

"No."

"Yes, I'm right Ivy. You know I am. I saw the way your shoulders dropped when you read Molly's text. And you kissed him last night."

"Oh, go away Sherlock. I was drunk, he was drunk and we agreed this morning that it didn't mean anything."

"Why would you do that? You clearly both know it did mean something. Why deny it?"

"Because."

"Because what."

"You wouldn't understand. And I don't like him." Even as I deny it I feel the butterflies in my stomach start fluttering when I see John's name flash up on the screen of my phone

**I've booked us a table for Monday night. Are we still on? It was nice seeing you. JW**

I let a small smile play upon my lips and type out a reply.

**Of course we're still on. It was nice seeing you too. IE**

"John?" Sherlock sits opposite me, pulling a cushioned chair under him. He picks up his violin and plucks at it, creating an eerily beautiful melody that somehow reflects my confused feelings.

"Yes. We're having dinner on Monday before I go back to work."

"Good." He stops playing.

"Why is that good?"

He simply smirks at me and I stand, storming past him and pulling my bedroom door shut with more force than necessary.

I sink onto the floor at the foot of my bed and pull my legs into my chest. The violin music starts up again and I press my forehead into my knees. I let the despair and confusion descend on me and let out a strangled sob.

_What have I got myself into?_


	12. Dresscode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO NOT READ THE END NOTES BEFORE THIS CHAPTER! IT WILL RUIN THINGS FOR YOU! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

I stumble out of my room after locking myself in there overnight and for most of the day, not even accepting the food or coffee Sherlock had uncharacteristically made for me.

"What?" I snap at Sherlock when he looks across at me. "I have to shower."

"You have to eat." Sherlock's eyes are soft and his voice is coaxing.

"You don't eat for days sometimes. Why should I eat? I'm going out in…" I glance at the clock. "Three hours. I'm going to eat then."

"You need something to eat Ivy."

"No." I don't know why I'm being so stubborn because I am hungry and he's being nice about it.

"Have a cup of coffee at least?" He switches the kettle on without waiting for my answer then turns to see me nodding reluctantly. "Good girl."

"Don't patronise me." He smiles at me then his spine straightens as he spins on his heel to pour the boiling water.

"Here." He passes me the cup of coffee and I inhale the hot, sweet scent. "What are you wearing tonight?"

"Why?" His usual interrogative tone has returned and I eye him with suspicion.

"It's important." He sips at his coffee and fixes his eyes on me.

"I don't know, I don't even know where we're going. I'll text John."

He watches me as I get my phone and quickly type and send the text.

**What's the dress code for tonight? Don't want to be overdressed. IE**

"There, I've asked him."

"Good."

My phone goes off and I read the screen with a mouthful of coffee.

**Classy but not too formal. I'm wearing a suit and tie. JW**

"Eager, isn't he? What's the answer?"

"Classy."

"I'm helping you pick something out."

"No you're not." I protest but I know he'll have his say anyway.

**Ooh, looking forward to it. Give me the address please. IE**

"Whatever you say." He smiles knowingly at me.

I shower quickly and dry myself, throwing the towel around me so I can go and get changed. Sherlock stands in my door way silently watching. I check my phone to find a new text from John.

**You should be. No, I'll pick you up at seven. JW**

"Out Sherlock. I will show you each dress when I try it on and then WE, and I mean we, not you, can make a decision."

I reply to the text with a small smile playing on my lips, pushing the idea that I shouldn't be looking forward to dinner as much as I am right to the back of my mind.

**Brilliant, see you then. IE**

"When's he picking you up?" Sherlock calls through the door, clearly waiting just outside.

"Seven."

"Good, that gives you two hours."

I try on combinations of dresses and shoes, emerging and twirling for Sherlock in each costume., greeted with responses such as: 'Too short.' 'Too bright.' 'Eurgh, no.'

Each dress is rejected until I come out in a strapless indigo dress that stops an inch above my knees. It's tight around my waist and flares out just above my hips into a floaty skirt. The material is silky and smooth against my skin and there's a violet net underskirt that can only just been seen sticking out from underneath the skirt. The same violet material has been uses to create a thick seamless belt around my waist. I've added silver heels and a thin silver chain round my ankle with a small star charm. My necklace matches the anklet but has a larger charm.

Sherlock looks me up and down, taking in every inch of my outfit.

"Perfect. What are you going to do with your hair? And make-up?"

"Erm… I haven't thought of that yet."

"Okay, just improvise and I'll guide you."

"Sure." It feels strange letting Sherlock take so much control but I feel calm. I'm excited to be going out, like a teenage girl on her first date but calm, like I know it's going to go well. I sit in front of my mirror and start putting on my make-up. I throw a towel around my shoulders like a backwards cape so I don't get any make-up on my dress and wash my face. I apply a thin layer of foundation and begin to spread it across my face.

"Not too much. Don't let it cover your freckles." Sherlock is sat right beside me, watching my every move with a fierce intensity. "Let me."

He places his hand under my chin to move my head to face him and concentrates on my eyes; putting something across my eyelids and coating my pale lashes in mascara and adding eyeliner.

"That's just right." His voice is quiet and I can feel his breath against my neck in what would usually be an erotic manner but it strangely comforting with Sherlock. I pick up a pink lipstick to hand to him but Sherlock intercepts me. "No." He picks up a different colour but doesn't let me see it. "This one." He runs it across my lips, and when I turn to the mirror I see someone who isn't really me. He has transformed me with so little.

My eyes are framed with black, my eyelids coated with a pastel purple which glimmers in the light. My lips have a plum tinge to them, matching the belt on my dress. My skin is glowing like moonlight, freckles looking beautiful rather than childish and my eyes are round and sparkling, the colour matching my dress. I exhale slowly, letting my eyes wander all over the face that is mine but enhanced to the point of magnificence.

"Wow." I move to tie my hair back but Sherlock pulls my hands away before frowning and inspecting me with his fingers steepled under his chin.

"No, hair down." He moves towards me, pulling his fingers through my hair so the soft blonde curls lie against my porcelain skin and tumble down my back. He breathes out through his mouth and inspects me once again. "Perfect. He won't be able to resist."

"That's not the point." I shoot him a warning look.

"So what is the point?" He says it in such a way that I feel lost for words and don't bother replying. "He's here." He speaks before the doorbell rings and as always, I gape, open-mouthed at him, still confused as to how he does it.

I start to leave before Sherlock grabs my arm, handing me a purse that matches my belt.

"The lipstick's in there and some… other supplies."

"Thanks." I wave and leave the flat, not bothering to enquire as to what else is in the purse. "I'm locking the door behind me." I back out, a coat in my hands and twist the key in the lock until I hear it click. I turn, pulling my coat on and see John stood on the pavement, a bunch of blue tulips in his hand.

"Hi."

"Hi." I giggle and point at the flowers, then at myself. "We match."

"Ivy." I step forwards and take the flowers.

"I'll just put these inside the door; my roommate can pick them up." I unlock the door and push the flowers in, shouting up. "Flowers, bottom of the stairs, put them in some water please." I relock the house and turn again, to see John regarding me with what can only be described as awe in his eyes.

"Ivy, you look…" He sighs as he meets my eyes and I grin at the look in them. "Perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was proud of this chapter. Very proud. Because my friend read it and said at the end "Of COURSE Sherlock can do make-up! Of course!" And that makes me happy.


	13. Dinner

"Dessert Miss Eventide?"

"Oh yes please." I giggle, tipsy but not intoxicated from my two glasses of white wine.

"Get two and half them?" John smiles at me across the table, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Brilliant."

"You say that a lot."

"What?" I chuckle as I scan the dessert menu and listen to John's movements.

"Brilliant, you use it a lot."

"It's a good word."

"Fudge cake looks good."

"As long as it's with ice cream."

"Okay, what's your choice?"

"Lemon cheesecake, light and fluffy after a big stodgy man-cake."

"Man-cake?"

"Yes. Man-cake." I try to look dignified but fail when I see John's face.

The waitress approaches us warily, not wanting to interrupt our strange conversation but I can see her superior encouraging her to hurry us on.

"Why don't we get them to take-away?" John looks at me suggestively and I nod eagerly, taking another sip of my wine.

"Yes. A lemon cheesecake and a chocolate fudge-cake to go please." I smile at her and she looks at me jealously, glancing at John as she writes down our order.

"Okay, they won't be long." She walks away, her hips swaying and looks over her shoulder at John, batting her eyelashes.

"She fancied you." I tell John in a stage-whisper.

"Noooo." He widens his eyes and laughs, leaning forwards and resting his chin on his hands. His faces suddenly looks solemn again and I dread his next words. "You do look really beautiful tonight."

I can feel the blush rising up my cheeks and looks at my hands.

"Thank you, you look really good too John."

"Here, and your bill." The waitress is back and she sounds like she's sulking, maybe she's seen the way John has been looking at me all night.  _Or the way I've been looking back at him._

John pulls out his wallet and puts the money on the tray.

"Let me get some of that."

"No." He shakes his head and when I get my purse out anyway he takes both of my hands. "No." His voice is sterner this time and I find myself thinking he sounds…  _sexy._

"Okay." He stands, taking the two boxes and holds out his hand for me. "Thank you." I take it and stand, liking the way he holds my hand, strong with the rough skin of a soldier. The warmth of it seeps into mine and I don't let go, even when I'm fully standing. He smiles down at me and tightens his grip on my hand.

We walk out of the restaurant and flag down a cab. We climb in without a word and without releasing each other's hands. Sitting in the back of the cab, John gives the driver his address and I risk a peek in my purse to see what 'supplies' Sherlock has given me.

_Oh god. He's given me condoms. I have a purse which contains one lipstick and lots of condoms._ I look through the purse with one hand, trying to keep it out of John's sight.  _There is nothing but lipstick and condoms, what the fuck goes through his mind?_

We reach Baker Street and quickly make our way upstairs to eat our desserts and John finds ice cream in the freezer. We dig into our food in silence, each of us starting with what the other ordered.

"Try some of this." John leans across the table, a spoonful of cheesecake in his hand. I meet him in the middle of the table and he feeds me the mixture.

"It's good."

We swap plates and finish eating, still mutely watching each other. I stand to leave and John follows me to the door.

"Tonight was fun." I step towards him and give him a hug, breathing in his warm scent again.

"Yeah." I pull away and he laughs softly at me. "You've got cheesecake on your face." He reaches towards me and runs his thumb across the corner of my mouth. He pauses and then lets his thumb continue across my bottom lip. I take another step forwards and deliberately put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His eyes light up and he breaches the gap between us, kissing me gently before pulling me further back into the apartment. I push against him and we walk backwards towards the bedroom door.

"Hang on." John's breath is heavy and hot against my cheek and I start kissing his neck instead. "Protection." I put my lips back on his and fumble in my bag, pushing a condom into his hand.

_Sherlock's good for something then._

I hear the door swing open behind us and we collapse onto the bed still tangled together.


	14. Morning Darling

I wake in a cocoon of warmth and for a moment I am content. Then things start to breach my sleepy awareness: the sound of a heart beat echoing in my ear, the heat radiating into my front, the slight smell of sweat and aftershave, the stale taste of alcohol on my tongue and the distinct lack of light shining through my eyelids. I can feel a hand stroking my hair and it takes me a minute to remember where I am. And I'm happy.

"Morning darling. I can call you that right?"

"Mmm, yes. morning you." I run my hand across John's chest and he pulls me closer against him. "This is nice, just lying here with you."

"Yeah, it is." He softly rubs my back in circles and kisses the top of my head. "Sleep well?"

"Yep. You?"

"Oh yeah."

I tip my head up and kiss him slowly, relishing the luxury of being allowed to. I get the feeling similar feelings are going through his mind. I reluctantly pull away and lay my head on his chest again letting the feeling of his breathing; both in the rise and fall of his chest under my cheek and the slight breeze in my hair, comfort me and lull me back into a half-sleep.  _I can't believe I've done this, I'm mad, this is mad._ The thoughts swirling in my head are telling me this is wrong but everything else in me is screaming at me that it's right.  _At least Sherlock will be happy._ I frown at this and wonder why it entered my head but when John's hand finds mine I forget all about it and smile against him.

"Food?" His voice sounds sleepy and doesn't help my want to stay in bed with him all day.

"Not yet."

We fall back into that strange awkward silence that feels immature and teenage, as if last night was our first time with anyone, not just with each other.

"Last night was… satisfying?" He trails off and I can tell he feels as though he's said something wrong.

"Satisfying?" Looking up at him teasingly I see the blush spread up his neck and across his face as he turns away from me in embarrassment. "That is the worst word to describe sex ever John."

"Sorry." He sounds bashful, making me feel bad.

"I was joking." I cup his cheek in my hand and kiss him. "There's nothing wrong with admitting it wasn't the best sex in the world."

"I suppose." His eyes turn distant, his face turned towards the ceiling, thoughts almost written across his skin.

"John."

"Yeah…" He looks down at me again, meeting my gaze, his question in his eyes.

"Everyone knows sex with a new person is always awkward and not quite right, it just takes… practice." I raise my eyebrows at him suggestively and he laughs.

"Maybe later." He speaks softly and I can see affection in his eyes; it makes my stomach do somersaults and my heart flutter.

We fall back into that noiseless state but it's less awkward now just comfortable and safe. I know that as long as I am here, in his arms, that I'll be okay. Anything might be happening outside but I am safe and happy, right here, right now, in this moment.

"You smell like bread?" He murmurs into my hair and I'm not sure whether I was meant to hear so I respond uncommitally.

"Hmm?"

"You smell like bread, it's weird."

"Oh, thanks John, thanks a lot, I smell weird." I giggle without looking up and can feel the laughter in his lungs.

"It's a good smell; I'm just confused as to why you smell like bread."

"I don't know why either, I bake a lot, maybe it's just my house."

"Well, whyever you smell like that, I like it." I can feel his lips turn up in my hair.

"Don't get used to it, by tonight I will smell like paint and bleach and antiseptic. It will not be a good smell."

"We can clean you off in the shower." His tone is elusive and I poke him in the ribs.

"Cheeky."

"Why will you smell like that tonight?"

"They've painted the school and it'll be all clean and empty, it's horrible on INSET days, I hate it." I shoot upwards suddenly, pulling the covers with me. "Shit, work."

I clamber out of the bed leaving John lying naked and uncovered on the bed. I pick up my underwear and pull it on, grimacing at the idea of putting on dirty clothes.

"What time is it John?" I glance over my shoulder as I pull my dress back on and pause at the confusion on his face. "I'm going to be late for work and I still have to go back to my flat to get new clothes." Realisation floods his face and he glances at the clock.

"Seven-thirty. Do you not want a shower? Or food?"

"No time." I grab my bag and leave the room. I sprint into the bathroom splash water on my face before running back through the kitchen when John is stood in jeans, pulling on a t-shirt.

"I'll come down with you, see you into a cab."

"Thank you."

We jog down the stairs together and hail a cab from the pavement. He opens the door for me and I begin to climb in before stopping.

"That wasn't your room was it? I have to know." I talk to him breathlessly and pull him into a kiss without waiting for an answer.

"No, how did you know?"

I back away, into the cab and give the driver my address. He pulls away from the kerb and I shout out the window as John waves me off.

"THE PERIODIC TABLE ON THE WALL!"


	15. School

"Wait here please, I'll only be a minute."

I practically fly out of the cab and into my flat, leaping up the stairs two at a time. Running straight to my room, throwing off my clothes as I go, I dart around trying to find something suitable to wear for work. I find clean underwear and pull it on while still looking for work clothes.

"Back of your door." Sherlock appears in the doorway and speaks quietly but the words reach me anyway.

Hanging on the back of my door is a black pencil line skirt and a white blouse which I clamber into, not caring that Sherlock is stood watching me.

"You need shoes." He walks off as I rummage around for shoes and settle on black flats. I run out of the house and find Sherlock standing at the front door with my keys, make-up bag and hairbrush in his hand. "You might want these." He doesn't meet my eyes and I take them, shouting a thank you over my shoulder.

"Thanks, Queen's College, Harley Street please."

"No problem."

The cab pulls away and I quickly apply some make-up and run the brush through my hair before checking my phone.

**You've left your shoes x JW**

**And tights x JW**

I chuckle and realise my feet are a bit scratched from running to and from the cab bare-foot. My phone buzzes and I look down smiling.

**Do you have something to tell me, Miss Eventide? SH**

And again.

**Well, do you? SH**

I frown and reply to both men, getting the reply to Sherlock out-of-the-way first.

**When I get home. But I'm sure you already know. IE**

**Maybe I'll come round later and pick them up? X IE**

I can see the school coming into sight ahead of me and get some money out for the driver. I climb out and check my reflection, hand the money, including a generous tip for waiting, over with a thank you and walk through the school gates, dreading the tedious day of timetabling and lesson-planning when I could be doing something, anything, with John.


	16. Are You Okay?

I traipse out of the building, weary and bored out of my mind, immediately checking my phone and trying to decide whether to go home or straight to Baker Street.

**Come over after work for them, we could rent a film? X JW**

**I'm sure I do but I want to make sure. SH**

**When will you be home? SH**

**I'm bored. SH**

**You've ran out of coffee. SH**

**Buy coffee on the way home. SH**

I hail a cab down and climb in, dropping into the seat as I give him my own address after concluding I should get changed before I see John. I reply to the texts quickly, with little effort in the words.

**Yeah, will do. Going home first. X IE**

**I'm in a cab now. Not going to the shop, do without or get your own. IE**

I close my eyes for a second; tired from the long day of being nothing but distracted from work with people I have no particular desire to spend a lot of time with. I try to distract myself, going over what I'm going to say to Sherlock but this just frustrates me more, knowing that whatever I say his response will probably be the same: nothing. Instead I think about the prospect of seeing John later and by the time the cab turns down Chancery Lane a small smile has replaced my frown.

I walk slowly up the house and unlock the door, dragging my feet as I go up the stairs.

"Sherlock?" I call out when I enter the house but receive no response. "Whatever…" I mutter under my breath and jump when Sherlock's voice echoes from behind me.

"You're later than I expected."

"It went on for a while."

"Enjoy it?" I can tell from his tone he doesn't really care so head for my room without replying and change into jeans and a t-shirt, hoping John isn't expecting me to dress up because I can't be bothered.  _I have to tell Sherlock, oh fuck, I don't want to._ I wipe my make-up off with a cloth and brush my hair.  _He already knows, obviously, so I might as well just say it._ I leave my room and put the kettle on, leaning on the table so I can see Sherlock lying on the sofa.

"Sherlock." I pause to put coffee in my mug and give him a chance to respond.  _Yeah right._ "John and I…"  _Take a deep breath and just say it._ "We slept together. And, well we're together now."

"Good for you."

His posture doesn't change but his tone is icy and distant. He exhales slowly and I know he's trying to control himself.

"Are you okay?" I ask in the same moment as he says:

"I need something to focus on."

"You mean a case or something right? You know that's not possible."

"I need to do SOMETHING!"

"Go away for a bit Sherlock, get out of the city and solve some cases out there, where people won't recognise you."

"Can't, have to make sure John's okay."

"I can do that Sherlock." I sigh and pour the hot water of the coffee, watching it dissolve and inhaling the aromatic steam. "You don't have to be here."

"YES I DO!" I jump and drop my coffee on the floor, the mug shattering on the tiles and the boiling water splattering down my leg.

"FUCK SHERLOCK! GET OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT."

He stops for a second and a look of shock and hurt crosses his face before he runs to the bathroom.

"You need to soak that leg Ivy, you'll scar if you don't. Ten minutes."

I remain standing where I am, surprised at my outburst. I can hear the water flooding the bath and Sherlock chattering frantically at me but can't make myself move. It hits me all of a sudden how hard it must be for Sherlock to cope; this man who can't keep still one minute and the next will sit for an hour without moving, who must keep his mind occupied at all times to stop him from going insane, who had come to depend on someone who he can't see now and I have now slowly begin to steal from him.

_And I've just shouted at him._

Tears falls down my cheeks in what starts as a trickle but quickly turns into downpour. My hands begin to shake and my breathing gets heavy and catches in my throat. My mouth turns dry and my lip quivers, struggling to contain the sobs that are soaring up from my chest. My mind is foggy and the thoughts in it are chaotic and whirling round, fighting for precedence. I whimper and can feel my legs giving way. The pain screams up my leg and the heat begins to spread forcing a cry out of me.

Sherlock appears in the doorway and is by my side before I hit the ground. He carries me to the bath and sits me on the ground, pulling my jeans off cautiously, flinching when I yelp as my skin pulls off as well and sits me in the bath. The freezing water hits me making me gasp as Sherlock steps back and watches me, his face blank while mine crumples. I refuse to let any sound out but can't stop the tears and end up resting my head against the tiles. My phone vibrates loudly against the wooden floor but I show no signs of having heard it. Sherlock picks it up in his slender hands and replies to whoever it was without saying anything to me. After a while he picks me up out of the bath and carries me to my bedroom. He carefully changes my soaking underwear and puts a pair of soft sweat-pants on me. Placing a hand on either side of my face he forces me to meet his eyes.

"Are you okay? Ivy, answer me, please. Are you okay?" He moves his hands from my face to my shoulders and shakes me gently. "Ivy!"

"Yes." I exhale sharply, being brought back to what is going on and fresh tears spring back to my eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Sherlock."

"It's okay Ivy, it's okay now." He helps me up and takes me through to the living room. "Are you still going to Baker Street or do you want me to make your excuses?"

I shake my head, holding my hand out for my phone, which he gives me without protest.

"I'm happy for you, you know. You deserve each other." He gives me a sad smile and ushers me out of the flat, handing me shoes and my bag. "Have fun tonight."

He places a fleeting kiss on my cheek and I turn to thank him but the door is already swinging shut behind him. I put my shoes on and get into a passing cab, keeping my mind blank for the whole journey to Baker Street.

I arrive, ring the bell and am let in by Mrs Hudson who bustles about me, asking if everything is okay. I answer her quietly and check the text that Sherlock saw and replied to.

**What film do you want? I'm at the shop now. x JW**

**You pick, I'll be an hour or so, see you later. X IE**

Sherlock has mimicked my style perfectly, for which I am grateful. I push the door into the flat open and call out for John. He appears round the corner, wearing jeans and a jumper, a warm smile spread across his face. He sees me and his face turns grave, taking a step towards me.

"Are you okay?" The words sound so different coming from John, more sincere and full of emotion rather than urgent and necessary as they sound coming from Sherlock.

He takes another step towards me and I finally allow myself to collapse against him, ragged sobs shuddering out of me as he envelops me in comforting warmth where I know I'll be able to calm down and the pain will ease.


	17. Jealousy

"You want to tell me what that was about?" John's voice is soft and encouraging, his arms wrapped around me protectively. I shake my head against his chest, embarrassed that I offloaded on him. "Okay then."

That one sentence, accepting my unwillingness to talk changes my mind, gives me the urge to tell him and it bursts out of me.

"I had a fight with my roommate. And spilt boiling water down my leg."

"What did you fight about?" He runs his fingertips up and down my arm as he speaks and I immediately feel calmer.

"I can't even remember, I just remember shouting at each other."

"How did you spill the water down your leg?"

"Oh, he came up behind me and shouted when I didn't expect it; I dropped my mug of coffee."

"Is it okay? Did you get cool water on it straight away?" He sounds concerned and pulls away from me, looking me over as though he's suddenly going to realise my leg has melted.

"Yeah, my roommate carried me into the bathroom and sat me in a bath full of cold water." John leans forward and pulls at the base of my trousers. "Other leg." He gingerly pulls up the edge of my sweatpants and winces when he sees the blistered red flesh.

"That needs dressed Ivy."

"Oh…" He stands up and kisses my forehead before walking up the stairs and re-emerging with a first aid kit. He sits by my feet on the floor and opens the box, rummaging through and finding what he needs.

"Trousers off."

"Oh Doctor Watson, you have such a way with words." I tease him as I wriggle out of my trousers, flopping back down onto the sofa gracelessly when I have discarded them. He laughs and begins dealing with my leg.

"So… your roommate…"

"Yeah?"

"He put you in the bath?"

"Yes..?" I look down at him but he's concentrating on my leg.

"So he… did he see you… with no underwear?" I can see a blush creeping into his cheeks and am honoured by it.

"No, he didn't. Would it bother you if he had?"

"Yeah, I think it would." He meets my eyes and looks so serious I can't help but feel sombre.

"Oh…" I suddenly remember that Sherlock changed my underwear when they were wet and can't lie to him. "And I just remembered… he did… he changed them after they were wet…" He looks hurt and I fumble to give some sort of explaination of what Sherlock is. I settle with: "It's okay though John, he's gay." His expression doesn't change. "It still bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Yes." He passes me my trousers and walks into the kitchen.

I quickly put them back on and follow him.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know why it bothers me, I don't like that it bothers me." He has his back to me and is stood in front of the microwave, a bag of unpopped popcorn in his hand.

"I like that it bothers you." I put my arms round his waist and rest my head on his back. Placing one of his hands over mine he puts the popcorn in the microwave and watches it spin.

"Yeah?" He sounds hopeful which makes me feel even better.

"Yep, it's flattering." I step back from him and wander back to the living room, talking over my shoulder. "What film are we watching then?"

"I got a selection, pick one."

"Where are they?"

"On the desk."

I wander over and look over the small pile of DVD's; a range of action films and a couple of comedies.

"Oooh, James Bond, we're watching James Bond!" I pick up the DVD and set it up as John comes over to me with a bowl of popcorn.

"We're going to have to squish up on the sofa so we can both see the screen, it's so small." The bashfulness in his voice is endearing and after he's twisted the TV round to face the sofa I curl up next to him. "Are you going to stay over?"

"Erm… no, I'd better not, got work tomorrow. But how about you stay at mine at the weekend?" I speak without think and curse myself for not factoring in Sherlock, then dismiss it.  _I'll figure something out._

"Yeah, that sounds nice." He leans down and kisses me before playing the film and putting his arm around my shoulders and absentmindedly eating popcorn. I feel strangely normal and am not sure how well I'm going to adapt to it.


	18. Shopping

"Sherlock." He ignores me completely but I decide to persist since my problem needs to be solved by tonight, before John comes over. "Sherlock, please listen to me, this is important."

He looks up from the laptop and tilts his head, indicating that he's listening.

"You need to… not be here tonight."

"Why?" He looks back down at the screen and I have a feeling he's tuned out.

"John's coming over. I rang Molly and she said you can stay there for the night. Please don't drive her mad."

"Okay."

I'm surprised at how well he's taking this but suspect he's going to make me pay later.

"I'm going to get some shopping in; do you want to come with me?"

"Yes. I do. You always buy the wrong coffee."

"Okay, don't make a scene though. And I mean it."

"Yes you do." He stands, throws on his coat, pulls on his scarf and turns up his coat collar.

"No." I look up at him and frown. "Get changed. And how do you have that scarf, John has it."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" He sound genuinely confused but I note how he ignores the scarf question.

"People saw you jump of a fucking building wearing that. You might get recognised; can't you just wear jeans and a t-shirt like a normal person?"

"Normal is boring."

"Normal is safe." I point towards my room assuming he'll understand that I have suitable clothes in there and he trudges through like a sulking toddler. "And where did you get the scarf from?!"

"I broke into Baker Street when everyone was out. It's my favourite scarf." He comes back out of my room wearing dark jeans and a grey jumper and I have to work hard to suppress a laugh. "What?"

"You just, you don't look like you Sherlock. And I think that scarf meant a lot to John." I usher him out of the building and follow, locking the door behind me.

"How do you know?"

"The first day I met him he had it with him."

"Of course. You should put it back in Baker Street for him." He looks thoughtful and sad before shaking his head and returning to his usual blank expression. "You should hide the men's clothes you have in your room before John comes over, he won't want to discover that you still have your ex-boyfriend's clothes. Put them in my room. Why do you have them by the way? I have a few theories but the evidence is so little that I can't pick one."

"He wouldn't speak to me after I kicked him out and it wasn't worth the effort to find him and give them back, it's only a few tops and a couple of pairs of jeans."

"Hmm, that did seem most likely. You're cooking for John tonight I assume?"

"Yes, I am."

"What were you planning on making?"

"I don't know, I was just going to see what I found." I push the door of the shop open and Sherlock follows me, walking very close behind me as I wander around the shop.

"Lasagne, he likes lasagne."

"Right, okay, I can do that."

"I'll get the coffee!" Sherlock bounds away from me, clearly with no idea where the coffee in the shop is kept but I let him go off since I have considerably more to buy.  _Why is he being so reasonable? I though he was going to kick off about having to stay with Molly._ I shake my head and wander around the shop, gathering bits and pieces and mentally calculating the price. After I few minutes I hear Sherlock shouting for me but choose to ignore him.  _I hope he's not too much of a pain for Molly._ My thoughts linger on the idea of him driving Molly insane or saying something insulting and for a moment my stomach sinks as I think maybe this isn't the best idea. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I get it out with my left hand, my right carrying the shopping basket. I nearly drop it but manage to stop it from slipping through my fingers and smashing on the floor.

**I'm looking forward to tonight. Should I bring an overnight bag? X JW**

I smile and push my doubts to the back of my mind.  _Molly will handle Sherlock fine, she's used to him._

**I'm glad, and yes, I think you should. X IE**

"IVY! THEY DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT COFFEE!" Sherlock's cry rings through the shop and when I react to it people give me disapproving looks; as though he's a naughty toddler I'm babysitting but don't know how to control. I walk up to the aisle he's stood in and find him staring at the shelves pouting.

"It's not suddenly going to appear. We'll just have to buy something else."

"But I need _that_  coffee."

"No, you don't." I pick my usual coffee and put it in the basket, walking away from him. He doesn't follow me. I walk back and take his wrist, pulling him after me. "Asperger's." I whisper to an elderly woman who looks incredibly annoyed and she changes expressions and gives me a sympathetic smile instead.

"I don't have Asperger's."

"I know that but people get less offended when they think there's something wrong with you."

"Why do you care what people think of me? It doesn't affect you if she thinks I'm rude or inconsiderate, it's just me it affects and I don't care. Why do you care? John used to do that, care what people think of me? Why? I still don't understand, it's…" I interrupt what could turn into a long-winded way of Sherlock admitting he doesn't know something.

"I can't speak for John but I care because the way you behave reflects badly on me. I actually couldn't give a shit what people think of you, but when they see me with you…" I trail off, unwilling to finish my very blunt confession.

"Oh." He almost looks upset.

"I mean, I don't care what people think of you because I know you don't care, so it's pointless. But I think John actually cares; I think he dislikes the idea of people thinking badly of you when he knows you're a good man really. However you seem on the outside."

"Oh." He looks smug now and I'm regretting my decision to back-track.

"Don't let it get to your head." I watch as all the food gets scanned and Sherlock puts it in bags, maybe trying to be helpful or maybe just trying to keep his hands occupied. I hand over the money and wait for my receipt, Sherlock fidgeting by my side.

We leave the shop and make the short trip home where Sherlock lie on the sofa, eyes closes and hands together under his chin. I start getting ingredients together and prepping for the food. Opening the fridge I move things around, trying to find cheese before slamming the door shut and glaring at Sherlock.

"Really Sherlock, in my fridge next to my food? Really? Thumbs?"


	19. My House

I open the door and find John standing by the side of the road with another beautiful bunch of flowers. His clothes are comfortable looking; jeans and a jumper and his eyes are clear and open.

"Hey." He sounds a little nervous, like I'm going to pass judgement on how he behaves inside my house, and takes a small step towards me. I breach the gap and kiss his cheek, taking his hand on mine.

"You look nice." I realise I sound just as nervous as he does and can't decide whether it's because he's never seen my home before or because, within my home, there may still be tell-tale signs of Sherlock.

"You do too." He pulls me into a full kiss and when we part I giggle, then scold myself for behaving so childishly and drag him into the house. I lead him up the stairs and stand, fidgeting in the doorway while John surveys my flat. "I like it, it's cosy."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in and John smiles at me, understanding my worries.

"Is that garlic I smell?" He comes to stand with me in the kitchen as I put together the salad, putting his arm around my waist as I work.

"Yes it is. Garlic bread." He kisses my cheek and I elbow him gently in the ribs, pushing him away from me as I toss the salad.

He watches me and waits until I have finished with the salad before pulling me into a deep, hungry kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and he wraps his around my waist, holding me so I'm pressed up against him. We both step towards the worktop until I'm leaning against it, trapped between him and the counter. He picks me up and sits me on the counter and I wrap my legs around him. Moving my hands to either side of his head I take control, running my fingers through his hair and holding him against me.

Then the oven timer goes off.

"Fuck." I pull away and hop of the counter, dashing around to find the oven gloves and retrieve the food from the oven before it burns. As I put the lasagne and garlic bread on heat-proof stands I look across at John. "What was that for? Not complaining, but why?"

"Well, we're not doing any kissing after eating all that garlic." He gestures to the garlic bread I'm putting in a bowl and makes a face.

"Aha! I have a solution to that. Look in the fridge." I put the garlic bread on the table as John stares blankly into my fridge. "Lemonade."

He gets the jug of cloudy lemonade out the fridge and sets it on the table.

"How is lemonade a solution?"

"My reasoning is two-fold." I cut the lasagne and put it on the plates before holding my hand up with a clenched fist. "One." I hold up one finger and take John's plate over to where he is now seated. "It gets rid of the garlic taste." I return to the worktop and pick up my plate. "Two." I sit down myself and pour the lemonade. "It's got a shit-load of vodka in it. And yes, shit-load is the exact measurement."

He laughs: a proper laugh; open, joyful and worry-free laughter that can't help but be infectious.

"How does lemonade help?"

"No idea, but I've tested it. It was fun." I fill my plate up with salad and start eating as John watches me incredulously.

"Did it have anything to do with eating a lot?" I nod through a mouthful of greenery, knowing full well that I look ridiculous but being comfortable enough not to care. "Of course it did."

I gesture to his food and he takes a bite, nodding at me reassuringly.

We keep eating, alternating between chatting and sitting in comfortable silences and I find myself thinking I could do this every night without ever getting bored.


	20. Cluedo

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know Ivy! It's your house." We're sitting together on the sofa in my under-sized living room, arms around each other but doing nothing has become awkward rather than nice. "Do you have any board games? We could play a game."

"I have got some board games." I clamber off the sofa and crawl across the floor to the cupboard under the TV. "Or one." Opening the cupboard I find Sherlock has moved all of my stuff apart from one game.

"You have one board game?" John sounds astonished and I turn to look up at him

"Yes, one, apparently. My roommate must have moved them and I can't be bothered to ring him slash find where he put them."

"Okay then. What game do you have?"

"Cluedo."

A strange combination of emotions flash across John's face: hurt, confusion and a forgotten sense of depression. Then he catches himself and smiles.

"Sounds good."

"I have no idea how to play; you'll have to teach me the rules." I pat the ground by my side and he climbs down beside me. "We might need cushions." He pulls two down from the sofa and hands me one.

"Okay. You technically can't play with two people but we can try."

I pour more lemonade while John slowly explains the basic rules to me, stopping after every step to check I understand. We begin playing but struggle with John explaining the rules in more depth as we go but trying not to give away his cards.

"I don't know! I don't want to make accusation." I pout at John when we come close to the end of the game and he's pushing me to make my final suggestion.

"Oh come on Ivy, just guess."

"Well." I sit back on my heels and study my notepad, trying desperately not to show how drunk I am. "Ah-HA! It must be… Mrs White… In the… Kitchen… With…" I frown and punch John gently on the shoulder when I catch him laughing at me. "The revolver."

"Do you want me to check?" He's still laughing and I fall back onto the floor.

"Yep."

"It's Mrs White." He flicks to the next card. "In the Kitchen…" He nods at me. "With the rope."

"No!" I stand, protesting. "That can't be it."

"Sit down Ivy."

"No, that's wrong. It can't be anything else." I fall back onto the sofa and pout.

"It's not wrong. It's in the rules." John climbs up next to me and kisses the top of my head. "You were pretty close for your first time."

"I don't care. The rules are wrong."

I look up at him, expecting him to be smiling but instead his eyes have filled with tears and he's fighting to keep them from spilling over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up the rules of Cluedo but couldn't be bothered to read them all properly so I may have something wrong.


	21. I Was So Alone

"John, are you okay?" A tear runs down his cheek but he doesn't reply to me. "John."

Another tear escapes and he opens his mouth to speak. No words come out.

"Oh, John." I wrap my arms around him and can feel his tears wetting my shirt. I stroke his hair and let him cry against me, moving my other hand down to rub his back in small circles. "It's okay, honey, it's okay." His arms wrap around me and I can feel his body shaking with sobs.

"Sorry, it's just…" John pulls away from me to try and explain but stumbles over the words and I shush him.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me. I don't mind." I push his hair back from his forehead and kiss him reassuringly. His cheeks are wet with tears and I can taste salt. "Come here." I pull him against me again and he rests his head on my shoulder, nuzzling into my neck.

"I just miss him so much." My heart drops as his words reach me.  _Sherlock, he misses Sherlock and he's not even gone._ I tune out for a second, freezing with him in my arms and waves of guilt flood over me. Then I come back to my senses and resume my comforting. I murmur non-descript words of reassurance into his hair and run my hand absentmindedly over his back and shoulders. I kiss the top of his head, rocking him gently like a child until his sniffling subsides.

"It's okay to miss him." I sit back and look away from him: the despair in his eyes still too painful to observe. "You're allowed to miss him John."

He puts his arm around me, sensing sadness in me also, and I lean against him; taking his hand and intertwining out fingers. The momentary lapse in his perfected façade of cheeriness has ended but his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are flushed.

"I know I am, but it fades into the background most of the time. It's usually hiding right at the back of my mind and sometimes it just hits me again."

"You're allowed to feel like that John, it's only been three months. And it's common for people who are grieving to feel like this."

"I know… I know Ivy. It just… it…" His voice breaks and I feel him breathing into my hair.

"It hurts?" He nods. "Do you want to talk about it?" He gives a barely detectable shake of his head. "Okay."

A moment of silence.

"I don't even know what happened. Why he did it. It's so frustrating. And then I remember that's just Sherlock, he was a frustrating man. And I miss that, he gave me company and a reason to keep going and without him everything seemed slow and empty."

"I know what you mean."

"Part of me wonders why I miss him so much. He pissed me off more often than he made me laugh and he got me in trouble constantly. But everything is so different without him. I was so alone. And with him I wasn't."

I feel guilty again and curse myself.  _Snap out of it, I promised Sherlock I wouldn't tell him and I like him for him. I am not doing this because of Sherlock._

I pull him up from the sofa and start to lead him towards my room; hands still tangled together. Pushing open the door I turn to face him and he kicks it closed when we're in the room. I kiss him and tug at the bottom of his jumper, pushing it off over his head. Our lips meet again in a gentle and lingering kiss as I begin to unbutton his shirt, running my hands gently across his chest as he lifts my top off. His hands stray to my hips and in seconds our skin is touching and I've pushed his shirt off his shoulders. His hands slide forwards, fumbling at my belt when I move my attention to his neck; placing slow, soft kisses all the way up to his ear and whisper to him.

"You're not alone anymore."


	22. Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit different from the others, I hope it's clear why from the beginning.

"Molly! I need coffee!" Sherlock shouts needlessly across my tiny flat and I jump in my seat.

"Fine. You could say please you know." I stand and find him hovering just behind me.

"Please." His eyes soften and his voice loses it's in a way which has only started since his 'death'.

"Okay, Sherlock. Go back to…" I glance at the table, covered in beakers, bottles of anonymous liquid and scraps of paper. "… Whatever it was you were doing."

"Thank you Molly." His faint smile more than makes up for the mess and I put the kettle on, spooning coffee and sugar into a mug. I put a teabag in my own mug and go to get the milk out of the fridge.

"There's no milk." Talking to myself, I sigh as I look through the fridge.

"I know. I told you earlier Molly."

"I've only been here a few minutes."

"Oh. Well I still told you."

"Why is there no milk?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes and wonder for a second why I let Ivy talk me into this.

"I needed an alkaline."

"So?"

"Milk is an alkaline."

"Yes, Sherlock. I know that. But why did you have to use my milk?"

"Because. I. Needed. An. Alkaline." He stresses every word and I feel incredibly patronised.

"Okay, whatever." Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I take the teabag out of my mug and put the mug away, helping myself to a glass of water instead.

"Kettle Molly."

"Yes, Sherlock. I can hear it." I make his coffee and hand it to him. "I'm going to bed, it's been a long day."

"Why are you telling me that?"

"Just... I don't know." I make my way to my room, marvelling that a dead man can be so irritating.

* * *

**Molly. I'm bored. SH**

I wake with a jolt as my phone vibrates loudly on my beside table and groan when I read the text. I reluctantly reply, anticipating a longer conversation than I am willing to have.

**It's three in the morning. Molly**

**So? SH**

**Why did you wake me up to tell me you're bored? Molly**

**Because I'm bored. SH**

**Do you want me to get out of bed? Molly**

Hoping desperately he'll say 'no' I reply again but sigh as I know that he won't.

**Yes. SH**

**Why? You'll just ignore me. Molly**

**No I won't. You can help me. SH**

**Are you asking for help? Molly**

I climb out of bed and debate whether or not to get changed. I decide not to bother, it's Sherlock, he's not interested and just get my dressing gown instead.

**No. I'm saying you can if you want to. I don't need help. SH**

"Okay Sherlock, what are we doing?"

"Hold this." He hands me what looks like a section of liver.

"Is this human?" I'm too tired to scald him and pull a chair up to the table.

"Yes."

"Okay." I resign myself to being Sherlock's little helper for the remainder of the night and watch him work, the deliberate, practiced movements of his hands strangely calming. He's being particularly human at this moment, silent but not tuned out from his surroundings and his face shows an expression of contemplation and sadness. "What are you thinking about?"

I want to encourage him to talk when he's like this. Get to know something about him, anything.

"This experiment."

"You look sad though. You don't make that face when you're thinking about work."

"Oh."

He seems shocked that I can deduce something about him but I'm unsure why. He knows I watch him work and it's only logical that I have learnt to recognise his moods by his facial expression.

"What are you thinking about then?"

"John." He sounds averse to explaining but I'm not going to let it lie.

"Why?"

"I'm thinking of telling him."

"That you're not dead?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice.

"No Molly, that I'm doing an experiment on human liver(!)." The sarcasm is dripping off his voice and I move away from him, hurt at his harsh reply. He glances at my face and pauses, taking me in. "I'm sorry Molly. Yes, I'm thinking of telling him I'm not dead." His voice softens again and the effect hasn't diminished since the first time I heard him speak with such gentleness. I lean closer and look at him with wide eyes.

"Why haven't you told him yet?"

"Because, at first, I couldn't, it was too dangerous. And when it was safe again, when I knew I could go back then, I thought John was still too vulnerable coping with my death to have to then understand the truth. And the longer I wait, the harder it will be for him to accept me back."

"Are you scared he won't take you back? That he'll be too angry?" I speak in whisper, honoured at his openness.

I am granted no response, and he looks back down at his experiment. I watch him work for a while, occasionally handing him something or taking something from him. His posture barely changes, the rise and fall of his chest, the minimal gestures of his hands and the darting of his eyes the only movement. My head droops and I stand, moving towards the stairs, towards my bed. I've put one foot on the staircase when I get my reply.

"Yes, I'm scared."


	23. The Morning After

I wake with a warm arm around my waist and soft breath against my neck. I lean back into John's body and feel his arms tighten around me.

"Morning you." He kisses the back of my head after he speaks and I turn slightly to look up at him.

"Morning." I brush my lips against his and whisper to him. "What do you want to do today?"

"I don't mind, I would be happy to just lie here with you all day." He kisses me again, smiling as he does and brushing my hair from my face.

"That would be nice but we should probably get out of bed at some point." I laugh into his chest but don't move.

"Should we really?"

"Yes John. Why don't we start with breakfast?"

"Okay, breakfast."

Neither of us moves and I can feel the laughter starting in John's chest before I hear it.

"Right, up." I roll towards the edge of the bed and swing my legs over it, sliding my feet into slippers. "Up!" I turn to look at John as I stand and reach for my dressing gown.

"Fine." He climbs out of the bed and pulls his underwear on. He follows me into the kitchen and laughs at me as I stare into the fridge.

"I don't understand why my fridge is empty."

"How do you not know why your fridge is empty?" John is desperately trying to hold back his laughter and failing.

"It was full last night…"

"Hmm, sure."

_Ah, it was Sherlock. I bet he came in, in the middle of the night. God knows why._

"Ermm… I don't know what to feed you now."

He comes up behind me, slipping his arms round my waist.

"I don't mind what we have. Why don't we have left over lasagne?" I can feel his breath on the back of my neck and the hair there moves slightly, tickling me.

"For breakfast?" I turn in his arms and raise my eyebrow at him.

"Why not?" He raises his back.

"Erm…" I can't think of a reason so wriggle out of John's arms to switch the oven on. "Left over lasagne it is then. Coffee?"

"Yeah, I'll make it." John pulls away from me and moves towards the kettle.

"No you won't. You can do the lasagne."

"Why am I not going to do the coffee?"

"You'll do it wrong."

"I'll do it wrong?" He chuckles under his breath and steps aside to let me have access to the kettle and the coffee. "God, no wonder Sherlock liked you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I spin around, a bag of coffee in my hand and glare at John.

"Nothing." He slides the lasagne in the oven and the kettle behind me clicks, telling me that the water has boiled.

"Hmmm." I make the coffee and sit opposite John at the table, watching him as he drinks.


	24. Metamorphosis

"Ivy?" I feel a warm hand gently shaking my shoulder and jolt back into awareness.

"Hmm?"

"You tuned out, stopped listening to me. The lasagne is ready and your coffee is cold. I was going to make you more but didn't want to do it wrong." He teases me but I stare, astonished. "I want to check your leg after we've eaten, the dressing probably needs changed."

"It's been changed once since you did it for me, I went to the doctor's." I speak absentmindedly trapped in my own thoughts.  _How did I tune out for almost twenty minutes? Why did John let me?_

"The doctor's? You could have come to me?" He sounds a little hurt and for the second time this week I feel honoured by this, and slightly smug. _He's my boyfriend and he's a doctor. And he gets jealous when I go to another doctor. Lucky me._

"I did." I stand and take serve the lasagne which John has taken from the oven. "Well, to your surgery. I saw a woman called Sarah. Know her well?" I carry the plates to the table and hand him a spoon.

"Erm, a bit." He shifts in his seat and looks slightly guilty. "A spoon?"

"It's breakfast, you have to eat it with a spoon. She seemed nice."

"What do you eat toast with then?"

"Your hands. Don't try and change the subject, you got all shifty when I mentioned her. So you know her well then?" I wink at him, joking about it since I'm not really bothered if he used to date her or not.

"Well, I guess. Yeah, I went out with her a couple of times. But it was only a couple of times! And Sherlock nearly got her killed on our first date." He sounds so eager to show me that they weren't serious and I find it endearing. I also surprise myself when I feel a spark of jealousy and a frown creasing my forehead. "Are  _you_ jealous now?" There's a certain gleam to his voice that makes me think he's quite proud that I'm jealous of his history with Sarah; the same way I'm glad that he's jealous of Sherlock seeing me almost naked.

"No."  _God Ivy, you sound so defensive._ "Maybe."

"Aww, come here." He takes my hand across the table. "We never even slept together Ivy. After the first date I stayed over a few times when I fought with Sherlock but I always slept on the lilo in the living room. And, well, it's hard to keep up relationships when, not only is your best friend Sherlock but you live with him too."

_I'm pouting. Me, the woman who never really needs anyone, is pouting because a man dated someone before me._

"Okay." I eat a spoonful of steaming lasagne and immediately chase it down with a gulp of water, the cheese burning my tongue. "You've broken me John." I speak once I've swallowed and take another gulp of water to cool my still burning tongue.

"What are you on about?" He talks round a mouthful of food and the image is incredibly childish, making me blurt out what I'm actually thinking.

"I never used to get jealous. I've never." I pause, thinking carefully about my words so I don't say something I don't actually mean or something that will scare him off. "Never needed anyone before. Not since I left home."

"You mean you need me?"

"Yes." I sound so timid, I can't believe it. "It's weird, I feel like everything would be wrong without you."

"I feel the same you know." His voice is encouraging and I realise I've looked down at my plate.

"Good."

We spend the rest of the meal in relative silence which seems to be becoming a habit of ours but we keep giving each other small smiles across the table; meeting each other's eyes. When we're finished eating I silently get up, taking our plates with me and put the kettle on again. As I potter about in the kitchen putting the plates in the dishwasher and the left over lasagne in a smaller dish John moves into the attached living room and puts on the radio. Quiet classical music floats through the apartment and a smile flutters across my lips when I recognise that it's Gluck's Dance of the Blessed Spirits on violin.

"I love this piece." I whisper to myself but see John look up at me from the corner of my eye. I move my attention to the dirty lasagne dish and fill the sink with hot water, adding washing up liquid and leaving the dish to soak. The piece of music sends shivers down my spine and I close my eyes as I wait for the kettle to boil again, letting the music take over me and unconsciously moving my hands in time with the music. I sink into a memory of Sherlock playing it for me, showing off when he had perfected the piece as a teenager and wanted to impress someone. It made me cry it was so beautiful and I kissed his cheek afterwards. The click of the kettle brings me back and I make more coffee before moving over to John and sitting myself on the floor, between his legs and just listen to the music; letting it wash over me. I sigh solemnly when it finishes and rest my head on his knee.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

We sit like that for an hour or so, occasionally exchanging soft works and listening to the instrumental pieces filling the room; To The Moon and Metamorphosis 2, all pieces I recognise from Sherlock at some point in our school days. Eventually John states he probably should leave, needing to get some shopping and I walk him to the door, giving him a kiss before he waves down a cab.

"You know, you remind me of Sherlock sometimes. The way you tune out and act as though you don't need anyone. It's strange but I can see why he liked you. You're the type of person he admired." He says it like a compliment and climbs into the vehicle smiling at me but I'm too distracted to respond convincingly.

_He thinks I'm like Sherlock. Oh god. He's not in love with me; he's in love with Sherlock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the songs I mentioned are:
> 
> Gluck, Dance of the Blessed Spirits, Violin - www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-v4zxpVDe4
> 
> To The Moon - www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRJ_DuXP6IM
> 
> Metamorphosis 2 - www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwwKFBeZr5Q
> 
> They are beautiful pieces and well worth listening to.


	25. Broken Phone

Over the next couple of hours I am hit by my realisation repeatedly and go through a cycle of denying it, crying and letting it fade from my mind before it hits me all over again.

_He can't be gay, he's had girlfriends, he's slept with me! He's not in love with Sherlock; he just admires his talent, his work. They were just friends. Oh god._

I curl up on my sofa, clutching a cup of coffee to my chest and listening mournfully to the sound of Tchaikovsky's October; the radio having not been switched off. Trying to sort my head out proves to be more difficult than I thought; I'm reeling at the idea of Sherlock and John and at how I've suddenly become so co-dependant.

**I forgot to re-dress your leg. Should I come back after I've been to the shops? X JW**

I stare at my phone as the tears creep back into my eyes and run my thumb up and down the side of it. Rubbing my eyes I think about how I could possibly reply without saying something stupid. The words on the screen blur and I growl with frustration. I read the message again, the kindness and genuine concern getting to me.

"Oh I fucking hate you." I mutter; half to myself and half to John, as if somehow he will hear me from Baker Street.

_God, you're acting like a teenager girl. It's not his fault._

I breathe in slowly and send John a quick reply not wanting to be rude because of something I don't think he even knows himself.

**It's fine. I might come over tomorrow and you can sort it then. X IE**

As I press send another text comes in at the same time as a knock at the door. I look at my phone as I stand.

**Let me in. I need coffee. SH**

The obnoxiousness of the texts angers me and I scream as I throw my phone against the wall, watching as the screen cracks and the back and battery go flying across the room. The tears burst out of me and I lean into the sofa and just let myself cry.


	26. Food Fight

**Let me in. SH**

**I'm cold. SH**

**Are you at home? SH**

**Why aren't you answering? SH**

**Are you okay? SH**

I ignore all his texts; knowing that he's only asking so I'll let him in. I've been curled up for so long that my legs are stiff and my head is aching; but I've stopped crying.

**Okay, I've got work until 5 so maybe we can have dinner? X JW**

I well up again but resist the tears. I walk slowly to the bathroom, stretching the stiffness out of my legs and splash cold water on my face. Rubbing my eyes I sigh and drink the cool water from my hands. I walk through to my room and climb into my pyjamas; a vest and sweatpants. Moving back into the kitchen I pour wine into the first container I can find; a mug. My phone rings but I ignore it, opting instead to keep drinking steadily. Seconds after the last ring I hear thudding from downstairs and then shouting. My phone rings again and the shouting becomes more frantic.

"IVY!" Sherlock's scream wakens me and I trudge downstairs to begrudgingly let him in. I get to the door just as he is about to break it down and unlock it for him.

"What!?" I snap at him and immediately turn and head back up the stairs.

"I thought you'd been hurt."

"Well I haven't."

"You're in your pyjamas." He says it as a question rather than a statement but I ignore his intonation.

"You walk around in your pyjamas all the time Sherlock. You went to Buckingham Palace in a sheet."

"But you don't usually. Are you upset?"

"No shit Sherlock. Well done, brilliant deduction there." I realise I'm angry with him because of John but I don't change my attitude.  _I have to put up with his random moods almost constantly these days._

"Do you want to…" He steps into the kitchen and puts the kettle on as pauses. "Talk about it?"

"Yeah I do Sherlock. Why the fuck did you steal all my food?"

"That's why you're angry?" He sounds astounded at my reason.

"Yeah, that. I had to give John lasagne for breakfast."

"I got bored at Molly's. I wanted to do an experiment."

"And you couldn't buy new food?"

"The shops were shut."

"John could have seen you! What would have happened if he got up in the middle of the night? It would have shocked him to death. That's what!"

"Did you have a fight?"

"What?" I spin to look at him and march right up to him. "Why would you say that?" I'm tempted to push him but resist the urge.

"Well I can't imagine you'd be this annoyed about food." The way he says food gets at me; as if it's a trivial and unnecessary thing which I just have as a fashion statement.

"Just because you don't fucking eat!" I storm into my room and slam the door behind me, hearing the frames on the wall shake. I collapse back onto my bed and fight against the tears welling up in my eyes. I climb under the covers, pull them over my head like a child and roll onto my stomach.

A few minutes pass and I sense the door of my room opening and Sherlock cautiously stepping in. His weight on the edge of the bed means I tilt slightly towards him and I feel the warmth of his hand on the small of my back.

"Do you want to talk about it? I'll just listen if you want."


	27. Thank You

I don't move for a second, shocked by the humanness he's displaying. I shake my head under the blankets, not wanting to explain my feelings to Sherlock when he has so much to do with them.

"Are you sure?" For once in his life he sounds hesitant, cautious and it's almost enough to make me talk to him.  _Not quite enough though._

"Yes." I stick my head up so he can see my face.

"Do you want to do anything? Or should I just leave you here?"

"Just leave me. I'll make tea later." I bury my head back in my pillow and just lie there until I feel the weight lift off my bed and hear the door close with Sherlock on the other side of it. My phone buzzes, the vibrations running right the way through the bed.

**Do you want me to book somewhere or will we just get take-away? x JW**

I smile a little and reply to him quickly; trying not to think about anything except how nice it will be to see him.  _Now's not the time to say we need to talk. It'll just worry him._

**Let's just get take-away. I'll be over for 6? X IE**

The text sends and I can hear Sherlock in the other room moving things around. I debate whether or not to go and see what he's doing but sleep beckons too persuasively.

* * *

I wake to the smell of smoke. I frantically pull the covers back from my head but stop, turn and stare at it; showing me the currents of air blowing through the room. It's eerily beautiful: the heather coloured essence swirling through the room. It makes beautiful patterns, like Van Gogh's Starry Starry Night and for a moment I forget that it's smoke. Until I hear Sherlock swearing through the wall.

_Oh holy fuck. What's he doing now?_

I crawl out of bed and wrap my dressing gown around me, glancing at a clock that tells me it's almost five. Trudging out of my room I come face to face with Sherlock, holding a bit of burning cracker between some tongs.

"Jeez Sherlock, please don't do that."

"Do what?" Any trace of compassion has gone from his voice and he sounds just like himself again. Weirdly it's actually reassuring.

"Stand there. Why are you standing outside my room?"

"I heard you get up."

"So?"

He spins on his heel and walks back over to the kitchen table, which is now covered in plates which in turn are covered in bits of food in various states of disintegration.

"Why are you burning my food?" I take a seat and reach across to a still smouldering marshmallow. I pop it in my mouth attempt to get all the remnants of it off my fingers.

"I wouldn't eat anything else Ivy. Some of it has ethanol on it. I'm carrying on my experiment from Molly's. I'm testing to see which creates the most smoke, the densest smoke, the darkest smoke."

"Why on earth…"

"Just in case. You never know when you're going to need a distraction in the house."

"Okay. Whatever Sherlock. Are you eating tonight?"

"Possibly."

"Well I'm going to make something now so decide."

"Yes. I will eat something."

"Okay. Brilliant." I stand again and start gathering bits and pieces to make soup. We slip into silence, the only noise me chopping and the crackling of Sherlock's burning food. I add everything to a pan; frying onions and garlic, adding water and seasoning, throwing in vegetables and pieces of meat in turn. The smell fills the house and it's comforting and warm. The bubbling of the soup joins the strange chorus of homely sounds that have filled my modest flat and the flowers in the corner, my blue tulips, catch my eye and I can feel my face lighting up and the memory of receiving them.  _Sherlock even arranged them nicely in the vase. Wow._ I switch the radio back on, classical music drifting out again and go back to my cooking. The whole scene is abstractly domestic, with me cooking and Sherlock working away at the table.

"What did you fight about?" Sherlock's whisper can barely be heard over the music but it makes me stop in my tracks.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

I look over my shoulder to glace at him; he hasn't even looked up from his work. There's a piece of burning bread between his tongs and a curl from his fringe has escaped to fall in his eyes. The look of intense concentration in his sparkling blue eyes is mesmerising.  _I can see why John loves him._ The corners of my mouth twitch into a half-smile.

"No, it's fine Sherlock. I'm seeing him tomorrow; we'll sort it out then."

He meets my eyes as he speaks.

"Are you sure?" The look of genuine concern in them startles me, it's something I'm not used to from this man; this cold and self-centred man.

"Yes." I have the urge to hug him and instead of repressing it as usual I give in. I kiss his cheek and whisper to him. "Thank you Sherlock."


	28. Ultimatum

“Sherlock?” I speak quietly and cautiously, wanting to approach the subject of John but knowing that one wrong word could cause another fight.

“Yes?” He doesn’t look up from his book but I decide to plough on anyway.

“I think you need to tell John.”

He doesn’t respond and I’m not sure whether he hasn’t heard me or whether he just doesn’t want to. I repeat myself.

“I think you need to tell John.”

He still doesn’t respond. He keeps staring at his book, which I now realise is my Encyclopaedia Britannica and he is correcting some of the entries.   _Don’t push him Ivy. Just get on with something and he’ll talk if he wants to._

I stand and move over to the pile of dishes left from our meal, where Sherlock ate a surprising amount. For Sherlock anyway. I fill the sink with hot soapy water and relish the feeling of the heat on my cold hands. I absentmindedly wash the dishes, one at a time, taking the time to refill the sink every time the water becomes cloudy, and rinse the bubbles off them before propping them up in the drying rack. Once I’m done I wash down the sink and put away the almost dry dishes. I move onto cleaning the surfaces and the table; lifting Sherlock’s book to clean underneath it while he continues reading. When I’m satisfied with the kitchen I put the kettle on, spooning coffee and sugar into mugs.

I wait patiently for the water to boil and make the coffee, placing Sherlock’s mug in front of him with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.

“Coffee, Sherlock.”  I murmur and pick up my mug, walking towards the sofa where my book is sitting.

“I can’t tell him.” His overdue reply is soft and I almost miss it. I stop where I stand and look over my shoulder at him.

“Why not?”

“It’s not safe.”

I walk slowly back to the table and sit opposite him, reaching out for his hand. He flinches away from my and when I try to meet his eyes he avoids my gaze.

“What are you talking about? Moriarty is dead and you said yourself Moran has run off to Kazakhstan or wherever and it looks like he’s staying there for the conceivable future.”

“It was Kyrgyzstan and that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” I reach for his hand again and this time he lets me take it. His fingers are splayed on the table under my smaller hand and they’re cold. Placing my fingertips against the thinnest part of his wrist, I make sure I can feel his pulse.

“His mentality. It’s fragile. I can’t tell him.” His pulse is quick, quicker than usual, as he speaks about John and I can see his pupils dilating. _He feels the same way?_

“He’s not that fragile Sherlock. Trust me”

“I put his through inconceivable amounts of pain; the grieving process alone will have decreased his capacity to deal with shocks. He’s just getting over it. It would be better if I just let him believe I am dead for the rest of his life. The two of you could live happily together and he’d be blissfully ignorant.” While he speaks he gets more agitated, demonstrated by his pulse, and his final sentence is sour.

“Sherlock he misses you. After getting over the initial shock, and he _will_ need time to get over the initial shock, but I honestly believe he’d be better off if you tell him. Or let me tell him.”

“No. I don’t think he would. And stop taking my pulse.” He pulls his hand away again and a small pout appears.

“I wasn’t taking your pulse. Please Sherlock. Tell him.”

“You’re a terrible liar Ivy. And no.”

“I am not a terrible liar. I’ve managed to keep it from John that you’re living with me.” I frown as I think about what to say next. I have an idea but I’m unsure whether to go through with it. _He won’t call your bluff Ivy. He wouldn’t do that._ “Sherlock.”

He finally meets my eyes and his expression tells me carry on.

“If you don’t tell him.” I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the onslaught that will undoubtedly be the respond to my solution. “I’ll break up with him.”


	29. Calling My Bluff

His nostrils flare and eyebrows pull down. His eyes widen, his lips tighten and a pink flush enters his cheeks. He stretches his fingers as if trying not to clench them into fists and presses them against the table until his knuckles turn white, like he’s trying not to cross his arms in front of his chest. His forehead wrinkles as his pupils contract, pulling away from his irises; showing the wide spectrum of navy blues and emerald greens. His jaw locks, he crosses his legs at the ankles and his back straightens, ever so slightly. His breathing increases, just a little and I can detect a tremor in his hand.

Then he speaks.

“Fine.” His voice is stiff and restricted; he’s trying to cover up his anger. Badly.

“Are you sure about that?” I can feel myself, see myself displaying the same symptoms as him, fists clenched, heat rising into my face, my heart pounding in my chest. “You know I’m not bluffing. You know me Sherlock. I’ll break his heart.” I successfully stop my voice catching because I don’t want him to know that breaking up with John would hurt me just as much as it would hurt him.

“Do it. I don’t care.”

“That’s not what you were saying a moment ago.”

“I don’t care! He is better off without me and what you do with him is up to you.”

“Tomorrow then.”

We stand simultaneously; Sherlock slamming the encyclopaedia on the table and me storming towards my room. The door bangs loudly behind me and I crawl into bed. I switch the TV on and find my recorded version of Die Hard pressing play and start humming along with the music without thinking. I wrap the blankets around myself and reach for my phone sending one text before I switch it off.

**See you tomorrow. X IE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT! WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TALK TO ME REGARDING THE PLOT DEVELOPMENT OF THIS STORY! I HAVE AN IDEA AND IT IS EITHER FREAKING GENIUS OR THE STUPIDEST THING IN THE WORLD!


	30. Cabbie

I wake with a smile on my face before remembering what I have to do today. _Oh god. I actually have to do it as well. It’s for the best. It’s for the best Ivy. It is._ I run my hand across my eyes and sigh, knowing I have to get up, go to work and then. Break up with John.

The clock is glaring at me: 7:30. _Shit._

I stagger into the bathroom, quickly shower and get dressed. Haphazardly throwing the minimal amount of make-up on, I grab my bag and pull shoes on. I jog down the stairs to the front door and find Sherlock standing there holding a lunchbox, a plate of toast and my travel mug.

“Thank you.” I mutter in his general direction and take them off him.

“There’s a cab for you outside.” He speaks as unobtrusively as I do and steps aside to let me out of the house.

I climb into the front of the cab and the cabbie starts chatting to me.

“Where to then miss?”

“The school on Harley Street please. Queen’s College.”

“You a teacher then?”

“Oh yeah.” I’m distracted, looking through my bag for my lesson plan for my A-Level class. “A-Level Psychology and Religious Studies.”

“Must be fun.”

“Yeah, most days.” I look up at him and smile.

“All those girls though. Must have some terrific fights.”

I laugh, usually cabbies irritate me but this one seems to make me react differently.

“Yeah, some are horrible, over boys and silly things but I have to admit, some are funny. Ah ha!” I find my lesson plan and look over it, sighing.

“Difficult class?” He doesn’t realise what I’m looking at.

“No, no, a lovely class. It’s just I’m starting on inferential statistics today and people always get confused. They don’t count on having to do maths when they take psychology.”

“Ahh, difficult topic then.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Here you go miss.”

“Thank you.”

I get out the cab and pay, smiling at my driver. His angular face seems familiar but I can’t think from where. As he drives away I shake my head and walk into the school forgetting all about him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've figured out the plot. I'm all good. It's all... guuuurd!


	31. It's For The Best

 I text John as I get out of the cab and unlock my front door.

**Be round in half an hour? X IE**

It's not long before I get a reply.

**Sounds good. X JW**

My heart skips a beat every time I think of the task ahead of me and I feel nauseated. I jog up the stairs and find Sherlock lying on my sofa, arm draped dramatically across his eyes.

“There’s Chinese in the fridge. Eat something.” Sherlock talks at me rather than to me but I’m quite touched that he’s: a)listened to me and eaten b)thought of me when ordering food c)despite the fact I’m about to break his best friends heart.

“Can’t eat. I’ll have it when I get back.”

“Fine.”

Our exchanges end there and I quickly change into jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie, pulling my hair back and shoving my feet into some shoes.

“I’m leaving. Do you want me to text you when I set off to come back?”

“If you want.”

I jog back down the stairs, pushing my phone into my back pocket, my keys into my front pocket and keeping enough money for the cab in my hand. Hailing the cab I jump into the front seat giving the address.

“221B Baker Street please.”

I click my nails against each other, nerves showing, the whole way to Baker Street. I stop the cab at the end of the street, paying him and setting off to walk the rest of the way. I breathe in the cold air, letting myself feel it burn my lungs and watching my breath come out in little wisps. I revert to an old habit of avoiding the cracks on the pavement; concentrating on that to stem the flow of nervous adrenaline running through me.    

I stand at the door for a few minutes, working up the courage to ring the bell; knowing that when I do, the whole process will begin.

 _Come on Ivy, it’s for the best. You decided it’s for the best and it is. You have to do, for John. For Sherlock. It’s hurting Sherlock you being with him and it’s pushing John into denial. It’s for the best. It’s. For. The Best._  

Pushing the bell I hop from foot to foot; half trying to keep myself warm and half trying to keep myself distracted. The door swings open and I steel myself. Then I see John, standing there grinning at me in jeans and a striped jumper. He looks so happy and I mentally curse him for being such a nice person, for making this so difficult.

“Hi, Ivy. Come in.” He moves aside and waves his arm, gesturing to the staircase. He frowns when I don’t move.

 

“John. We need to talk.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, these chapters are getting shorter and shorter. The next one will probably be short but then hopefully the last four or five will be longer. I will try my best. :)


	32. Breaking Up

His face drops and he lets me walk into the flat ahead of him. I wait at the top of the stairs for him and wring my hands, running the pads of my thumbs across the palms and backs of my hands.

“Erm. Tea?” He stands opposite me in the doorway, staring at his feet and refusing to meet my eyes.

“Please.” I perch on the edge of the sofa and squeeze my eyes shut; still not quite sure what’s I’m going to say. _The truth? That he’s in love with Sherlock? Or will that be too much for him. I have to give him a reason, he deserves that at least._ I listen to the rattle of the kettle and see John’s hands resting on the counter; steady as a rock.

“Here.” He’s doing a good job of covering up his feelings and I’m not sure what he’s thinking; even with the extra people reading skills Sherlock has taught me.

He takes a seat beside me, but on the other end of the sofa so out knees aren’t touching. We both sip at our tea for a few minutes before he speaks.

“What do we need to talk about?” He rubs a hand across his head expectantly and watches the steam making patterns in the air above his tea.

“Us.”

“Of course.” He chuckles darkly and continues to be fascinated by his tea.

“John, look, I really like you.” He scoffs and I get the impression he has been on the receiving end of conversations like this before. “Honestly. But I think we’ve…” I try to pick the right words as he slowly meets my eyes. “Rushed into this a bit.”

“Oh.” He sounds as though that wasn’t what he was expecting and doesn’t know whether this is good or bad.

“I know it’s clichéd but I do want us to stay friends. And I’m not saying that that would be it. But for now…” I trail off, knowing my excuses are pathetic and not what John deserves. “I think we both need some more time to get over Sherlock. And we could, re-evaluate later.”

“Oh. Okay.” He looks up and the hurt in his eyes is so intense I have to look away. “Thank you for telling me, I guess.”

He finishes the rest of his tea and takes my half-empty cup as he moves back into the kitchen.

“I’ll go then.” I stand and wait for him so I can at least say goodbye before I leave. He comes back and gives me a half smile as I give him a little wave before I turn around and walk down the stairs.

In those last seconds before I leave I see the John I met in the doctor’s surgery again. Broken and worn-out and angry at the world and feeling guilty for feeling angry. I hate myself for doing that for him. _It was for the best Ivy. You know it was._ I get to the bottom of the stairs and sprint past Mrs Hudson’s door to avoid the almost inevitable cup of tea and chit-chat that waits if she sees me. _Was it really though?_

I begin to doubt myself and reach for my phone to text Sherlock. _I have to tell him._ But it’s not there.

“Shit.”

I dash back past Mrs Hudson’s door and call up the stairs.

“John. I left my phone. I think it fell out of my pocket.”

When I arrive at the top of the stairs he’s stood there, my phone in his hand and a… disgusted yet confused expression on his face.

“What the fuck, is this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given myself a deadline for this for the time I get back to school after Christmas so that'll be the first week of January-ish. :)


	33. Excuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is such a short chapter but I hope you like it nonetheless! :)

"Erm…" I stammer and take the phone off him, staring at the screen while he glares at me, his hand still outstretched.

It's a series of texts from Sherlock.

**You need to come back. SH**

**Right now. SH**

**It's important. SH**

**IVY! SH**

My mind starts running in circles, excuses tripping over each other; some get to the tip of my tongue and others don't even make it that far.  _I can't claim it's not Sherlock, although he only signs the texts with 'SH' his number is saved in my phone. Under 'Sherlock Holmes'. I can't claim that they're old texts. There's a date and a time on them, they only just came through. Ah…_

"It's just my phone John, it's old and it sometimes receives old texts. Really old texts." I don't sound convincing and John looks sceptical but turns and walks into the kitchen.

"You can see yourself out I assume." His voice is cold but I can hear the tremor in it, the tremor that tells me he knows I'm lying but he can't contradict me, what would his argument be? Sherlock is, after all, dead.

I stand there, in John's door, for a few seconds and rub my hand across my eyes. I slowly step down the stairs, almost as if I'm waiting for a reason to go back and tell him to pop into my head before I go through that door.

Of course nothing new comes to me so I sneak past Mrs Hudson's door and step out onto the street. The phone in my hand buzzes again but I shove it into my back pocket, resolving to look at it when I've got a taxi, considering how urgent Sherlock's texts were. Looking up and down the street as I walk, I head towards Paveley Street, thinking if I can't find a cab I can at least have a cup of coffee while I wait for one.

Luckily, I don't have to wait, a cab pulls up beside me. The driver sticks his head out the window and I recognise him.

"Hey miss, looking for a lift?" It's the driver that took me to work earlier in the day.

"Oh, please." I smile at him and climb into the back of the car.

"Same place I picked you up from this morning?" He turns and grins at me, somehow making the fact that he remembers my address sweet rather than creepy.

"Yes please, as quickly as possible please."

"No problem, miss." He turns back to the front of the car and as I feel the car pull away I retrieve my phone from my pocket.

**Don't get a cab though. SH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be done by now and I am so sorry! I've had so much revision to do over the holidays so I simply haven't had the time to write.


	34. Wrong Cab

**Why!?**

I reply as quickly as possible, mentally debating whether I should get out the cab or whether Sherlock is simply being dramatic.

**It doesn't matter. Just don’t. SH**

As I read the text I feel the cab speed up and when I look up from my phone I’m on a street I don’t recognise.

“Excuse me, I think you’ve made a mistake. This road doesn’t go to my house.” I lean forwards and speak gently, convincingly, and surprisingly, sounding perfectly calm when my hands have tremors running down them like water.

“Oh, it’s no mistake, my dear.” His voice hasn’t changed; not really, it still has that chuckle behind his words that makes it appealing but there’s something sinister there too. I can see his eyes in the rear view mirror and they’re set and determined and icy.

“What do you mean?” A small part of me is hoping it’s a short cut or that he has a similar reason for coming down here but I know I’m just kidding myself.

“Oh now honey, that would be telling.” His voice sounds, almost seductive, but I can still see his eyes; the cold blue irises so pale they almost fade into the whites.

I pull at the handle of the door, thinking that throwing myself out of the car and running might be better than staying in the cab with...  _Who the fuck is this?_ The door won’t open.

“I wouldn’t try that deary, they’re locked.” He sounds smug and overly pleased with himself, as though locking the doors is the best idea he’s ever had.

I grapple with a few ideas but conclude that I’m just going to have to sit it out.  _Maybe I should let someone know? Sherlock?_ It’s the only idea I have and I can probably get away with it.

I dial Sherlock’s number, grateful that my phone is still on silent and hoping the Sherlock doesn’t speak when and if he picks up. Staring down at the phone in my hand I watch as it tells me Sherlock has picked up and I can hear shuffling and a faint sigh but no words.  _Well he’s pissed but he knows._  I look back up again, letting him get on with whatever he needs to, also knowing that watching the clock will just increase my anxiety. After a few minutes of silence my phone buzzes ever so slightly, telling me that Sherlock has hung up. Seconds later, another buzz.

**You got a cab didn’t you? SH**

**Oh Ivy, why did you not listen to me? Surely you know by now I am always right. SH**

I type an angry reply, again grateful for my quiet little phone whose buttons don’t click.

**I didn’t get your text until I was already in a cab. Just get me the fuck out of here!**

Replies comes in almost instantly, a line at a time in true Sherlock style.

**I’m doing what I can. SH**

**I’ve contacted Scotland Yard anonymously. SH**

**Made sure they have their best men on it. SH**

**And I’ve sent them the frequency of your phone. SH**

**They should be able to trace it and find you. SH**

**Ring me back so your phone remains active. SH**

**Good luck. SH**

_Oh fuck, if Sherlock thinks I need luck then I am in serious shit._ I quickly dial his number again, slipping the phone into my coat pocket when I can see he’s picked up.

I look back out the window and I don’t have a clue where I am except that we haven’t been travelling long enough to be outside of London.  _Shit Ivy, you should have been concentrating on the route. It’s basic!_  I continue to curse at myself while keeping my eyes fixed on our root, keeping note of all the turns. Right. Right. Left. Right. Left.

A crash from the other end of my phone makes the driver break; violently. I fly forwards, the safety belt ramming into my collar-bone and ribs, my head whipping back as my body jerks against the belt.  I resist crying out.

Muttering from the front seat the driver turns of the engine and throws open his door. I undo my belt, slide across the back of the car and try to climb between the front seats in an attempt to get out of the front doors. I push myself up, a hand on the back of each seat and wince as pain shoots up my right arm as my weight sits on it. The noise of the door behind me makes me move again trying to get my legs over the hand-break. My knee bangs into the gear stick and I swear, scrabbling to get forwards.

A warm hand clasps around my bare ankle and pulls me back. My leading leg twists unnaturally and I gasp as my hands fall slip from under me and my head hits the dashboard. Sticky blood drips lethargically down my forehead as my arms are pulled behind my back and secured and I’m pulled out of the cab by my wrists.

“Oh you really shouldn’t have done that, my dear.” All pretence of kindliness has gone from his voice but there is still something attractive about it; it has a sound like honey and I feel like I’m drowning in it.

He spins me round to face him and sneers at me. I can smell cigarettes on his breath but with him so close I can see his pulse throbbing in his neck and the drips of sweat on his forehead.  _He’s nervous. Hah._ I tense my legs and kick but he moves just in time and I barely graze his thighs. He shifts his hands behind me; readjusting so he’s holding me with one hand and the other is approaching my face, covered in a piece of cloth.

He places it over my mouth, with more force than necessary and my eyes flicker closed; everything in me fighting against it. As my mind shuts off I can hear him speaking; whether to himself or me I’m unsure.

 

 

“Oh you should not have done that.” 


	35. Kidnapper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy it! Please give reviews whether negative or positive; anything will help me! Thank you! :)

 When I come around I am tied to a chair on a roof. My kidnapper is nowhere to be seen and I take advantage of this; using however much time I have to sort my thoughts out.

My arms are tied the sides of the chair rather than behind it and as a consequence I can feel that my phone has been taken from my pocket, in fact, if I look to my right I can see it. It’s in pieces; smashed against the short wall surrounding the roof. _Not much chance of Scotland Yard tracking_ that, _is there?_ My mouth is covered with tape and my ankles are tied to the legs of the chair. _He’s learnt his lesson then._

I sigh and try to figure out where I am. All I can see around me is more buildings, most the same or similar heights to the one I am on. I look as far behind me to my right as I can and only see the top of another building. I look as far as I can to my left and see that the building behind me is Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.

I pull at the ties around my wrists and ankles and find they have some give but not enough to break loose.

Closing my eyes I try and go through everything Sherlock has ever taught me but none of it helps me. _Where am I? Opposite Saint Bart’s. What? I’ve been kidnapped. I’m tied to a chair. On a roof. I have no phone but Scotland Yard probably had enough to track it. So the police could be on their way. How? Well, my leg feels bruised, my shoulder and ribs are injured in some way, I possibly have whiplash but my head has stopped bleeding. Who? Now that is the question._ I wrack my brains but cannot come up with a single idea for who it is.

Footsteps click on the concrete behind me and I force myself to resist the instinct to play dead. I straighten my spine and set my jaw, desperately not wanting him to see how scared I am. Rather than coming round to face me my kidnapper moves the chair; gripping the back of it, tipping it onto one leg and spinning it. He lets it drop back onto the concrete and the vibrations run up my body, stinging through my injuries. I can’t help but wince.

He crouches in front of me and runs his right index slowly down my cheekbone. I try to pull away but there’s not much space behind me. He moves his finger, pushing my chin up with it and I look down my nose at him.

His nose is thin and projecting and there are jagged scars running across his forehead and cheek; scars that look as though they were deep cuts but are old and faded now. Faded so much so that I barely noticed them before. He moves gracefully and strikes me as feline.

He seems to be inspecting me. He continues to run his long fingers over me; the tip of his index running along my collar bone as his thumb caresses my neck.

What scares me about him is that he’s not a typical ‘bad guy’; I can’t imagine why he’s doing this. _Or WHO he is!_ There’s nothing scary about him except the coldness in his eyes; he’s quite good looking, tanned with chestnut hair and almond shaped eyes. The scars on his face don’t really register and when they do they don’t bring about assumptions of violence; he’s old enough that he could be in the army or the police, jobs where injuries aren’t rare. His breath doesn’t smell, his teeth are straight and white and his voice smooth and low.

He takes a step away from me and slowly looks me up and down; drinking me in. A bemused look appears on his face and he shakes his head; beginning to walk around me. He stands behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders, rubbing my back with the pads of his thumbs. A sigh heavy with joyous expectation is wisped away on the breeze drifting across the roof and his hands lift from me, running gently through my hair as they do. 

He marches towards a door on the left of the building without looking back, stopping to push the bottom of the door with his foot while pulling it open. He turns and looks at me just before he dissolves into the darkness beyond the door and mutters; his words only reaching me because of the whisper of wind.

“I don’t really understand what he sees in you.”


	36. Incoherency

I'm stuck on the roof and the light is beginning to dim, leaving me wondering if he's just going to abandon me and let me starve to death up here. I'm starting to droop, the caffeine from through the day having worn off and the adrenaline in my blood fading. The worry is seeping into me instead; I have a lump in my throat and as tiredness takes a hold of me I can feel panic rising too, logical and sensible thoughts abandoning me.

_I'm going to die up here. I am going to die tied to a chair on the top of a building and the police are going to find me. But before that I am probably going to wet myself. Wonderful, just how I wanted to meet my maker, with wet pants and blood all over my face. Great first impression I'm going to make. Hi, God, sorry for the mess but I sort of got kidnapped then abandoned. Hope you don't mind._

I realise my mind is muddled and my thoughts are turning from the silly, dramatic waffle of a teenager into the incoherent babble of a barely literate toddler. I'm making no sense, not even to myself, but I can't seem to make myself care.

When I hear footsteps coming back up to the roof I can feel my nostrils flare and eyes widen, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming cab.

"Hello again my dear. I do have to say I thought he'd be here to save you sooner."

I had no idea what he was talking about before and I certainly don't now that my brain has decided to go into hibernation, just when I need it the most. He goes over his routine from before, running his fingers across my face and through my hair; inspecting me. He seems to detect the wildness in my eyes, that my instincts have taken over and I'm not thinking straight.

He takes a step back, wary of me, and probably wisely so.

"I'm going to take the tape of your mouth, honey. Just promise not to scream." He leans towards me and continues speaking. "I'm going to rip it off in one motion, it probably won't hurt as much that way. Okay?"

I attempt to stare him down but realise quickly that he is asking my permission. I nod as my fear builds; this display of half compassion and half disdain is unnerving, more so than if he had been acting completely deranged.

He pulls the tape off and I suppress a scream of pain.

"Good girl." I frown at him, trying to figure out who he is and what he wants with me. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"No." I whisper, my voice hoarse and my throat sore.

"I'll let you figure it out." The menace has returned to his voice, prompting me to flinch when he moves closer and brings his hand to my face. "It's just a drink of water deary. I'm not planning on letting you die."

I almost expect him to add 'yet' but he doesn't and I grudgingly let him pour water into my reluctantly eager mouth. He twists the lid back onto the bottle and settles himself on the floor by my feet, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his weight resting on his hands which are flat against the concrete behind his hips. Some form of recognition sparks in the back of my mind and I can see his face in a mug shot; the same smug smile spread across his lips. I close my eyes concentrating on the memory and I can see Sherlock pushing the image across my kitchen table towards me.

The sudden comprehension jumps from my lips in a husky gasp.

"You're Sebastian Moran!"

"That's Colonel Sebastian Moran to you."

_I was right. The army. So Sherlock taught me something after all._

"What do we do now then... Colonel?" The sarcasm sneaks through my voice despite my attempts to hold it back.

"We wait. I can't wait to see what he does."

 


	37. Mental Debate

The sunset is shimmering over the roof of Saint Bart's although I think the shimmering might be a side-effect of my shock and fatigue rather than the actual sunset. My eyelids are flickering and I have a feeling I have dozed off for small periods of time without realising. Moran has been offering me sips of water even now and again and despite my desire to, I have found it hard to refuse him.

He's still stretched out in front of me and has been mostly silent, other than the offers of water.

During the silent time I've been contemplating who Moran has been referring to when referring to 'him'. I haven't come to a conclusion. My debate was between John and Sherlock. John because of our relationship and Sherlock because of, well, Sherlock. Every time I had convinced myself it was one of them, I'd suddenly discover a convincing argument for the other and the cycle would begin again.  _He could want Sherlock because of Moriarty. But he might still think Sherlock is dead, in which case he wants John. But why? Because he was Sherlock's friend? But how much did Moran and Moriarty communicate? Did Moran know that John was close to Sherlock? In which case, it would be Sherlock. If he knows he's still alive. But he could know Sherlock is still alive yet want John. A tooth for a tooth and all that jazz._ So I'm no further along in deciphering my kidnap.

But I've begun to panic properly now; started to think that I am never going to get off here and Moran's act of keeping me alive is just that, an act.  _Maybe he's going to wait until John/Sherlock gets here and kill me in front of him as revenge for Moriarty._

I hear sirens and fight back a smile. I don't know if Moran knows that my phone was connected to the police. He lifts his head, tilting it, when he hears the sirens but doesn't look concerned so I decide he doesn't know. But I do have a flash of inspiration.  _He must know Sherlock is alive. He'll have seen who I was calling! So is he wanting John to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine or Sherlock for revenge?_

I can see the blue lights flashing on the walls of Saint Bart's and mentally cross my fingers, but for what, I'm not sure. Biting my lip in an attempt to hide my excitement I look up, watching the sky over Saint Bart's.

The purples and pinks of the sunset are merging with the natural blue of the sky over Saint Bart's. It's stunning but something is blocking it and whatever it is is growing larger. I squint slightly, hoping Moran doesn't notice, and can make out the outline of a person.

It reaches the edge of the roof and I can see the person in more detail; I can see elements of their appearance despite the fact they are little more than a silhouette.

Thunder rumbles up the steps behind Moran and he pounces to him feet, sprinting towards the door and pulling a gun from his pocket. John and an older man I don't know burst through the door, both armed with revolvers just as I realise who is stood on the roof of Saint Bart's.

Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! My head is a bit of a mess at the moment so you might not get another chapter for a while and I am so sorry because it might be one of the last chapters! I would love and greatly appreciate reviews by the way.


	38. An Eye For An Eye

The older man with John doesn't stop running until he's collided with Moran. They tumble to the ground and come to a halt by my feet. Whilst they grapple on the floor John dashes to my side and struggles to untie the rope around my wrists.

"It's going to be okay Ivy. I promise." He doesn't look at me but he doesn't sound mad either and part of me that I didn't realise was worried suddenly feels relieved.

"Thank you for coming for me." My words don't have any emotion in them and I'm feelings numb; my head is fuzzy and can't make myself feel anything towards anyone.

"Of course. Damnit." He mutters under his breath at the knots tying my wrists. He moves and crouches in front of me, placing a hand on either side of my face. "I can't undo the bindings right now but I'll come back. I need to help Lestrade right now." Seeing my puzzled expression he expands. "The police officer with me. He's one of the best but I think I'd be better leaving you for now. I won't let you get hurt." I nod and he stands, observing the scene in front of him. He hasn't noticed Sherlock.

Moran seems to have got the upper hand in his fight with Lestrade. The older man is panting heavily and Moran is straddling his chest. A fierce look of concentration appears on both men's faces and I hear a gunshot. I scream, the femininity of my reaction astounding me, but no one seems to have been hurt. There's no blood and all three, _four,_ men are still standing. _Figuratively._

John glances behind him, checking I am okay and then dashes towards Moran. Just as he nears the two men Moran reaches out, grabbing John's ankles. Both my saviours are now on the floor and Sherlock's silhouette has gone from the roof of St Bart's.

Moran clambers to his feet. He kicks John over onto his stomach and places a foot on his back. He bends down to pull up the police officer, producing more rope and tape from his pocket. He ties the police officer's arms, tapes his mouth and throws him to the ground by my feet. Lestrade looks up at me, his eyes apologetic and I smile softly at him.

"It's okay." I whisper but Moran hisses at me.

"Shut up you."

He pulls John up, tying his hands also. He drags him behind him as he approaches my, tape in his hand. Soon he is stood over me and Lestrade is huddled by my feet. The ankles of both men are tied and their mouths tapes. John is looking across at me with terror in his eyes and I know he hasn't felt this scared since Sherlock's jump.

Moran collects his gun from the floor, cocks it and hold it to John's head, smiling maliciously at me and looking me straight in the eye.

"Just what I wanted Miss Eventide. And eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."


	39. Acting The Innocent

My first instinct is to scream. I suppress this instinct and stay quiet. My heart is thumping in my chest and I can feel tears pooling in my eyes. _No, no, no. Not John._

I breathe in, trying to collect myself and sort my thoughts. _I can't do anything rash, John will get hurt. I must not do anything without thinking it through._

"What are you going to do?" My voice starts off calm but trembles as I finish my sentence.

"Now wouldn't you like to know, deary?" He takes a step closer to me, dragging John behind him, gun still held to his head. "Because you're so pretty and you've been such a good girl I might tell you."

"Please." I whisper, letting the despair enter my voice; hoping that if I act like a scared little girl he might treat me like one.

"What I'm going to do is…" He takes another step closer and I can see the flecks of colour in John's eyes. "I'm going to wait for Mr Holmes to come and save the good doctor, as we all know he will, and then I'm going to shoot Mr Watson through the head."

"Why?" _Act innocent and he might tell me more, if he thinks I know he won't say._

"Because, Jim is dead. And it's all his fault. So it only seems fair, I had to watch Jim die. Sherlock can watch his little pet die. And as an added bonus, I'll have you and the DI to play with as well. I'll put on a little show for the world's only consulting detective. If he's lucky I might kill him too."

"What do you mean, if he's lucky?" I can see the confusion in John's eye's and meet them, trying to apologise without words. I don't think I'm successful.

"Well, he's not going to want to live, is he now? After he's seen all his friends tortured and killed. Knowing it's his fault." There's a glimmer in Moran's eyes that tells me he's not completely sane, a glimmer even someone who knows nothing about anyone or anything could see; could understand.

_Shit. I don't know what to do now._

I glance between John and the detective, helpless and confused before closing my eyes.

I don't want to see John getting his brains blown out and I am sort of hoping that the longer I play the innocent, scared little girl the longer we will have to live. I can hear panicked breathing by my feet and soft footsteps on the ground. Without opening my eyes I can't guess who the footsteps belong to but I know that I probably wouldn't be able to hear them if it wasn't so quiet.

"Oh my dear. I know your game. You won't be playing for time much longer." Moran's words come with a giggle, childlike and almost innocent if it weren't for the nature of the words.

"Oh, she most certainly will not be."

"No, she'll be begging for death by the time I'm finished with her."

"I doubt that very much."

I open my eyes as I recognise the voice coming from behind Moran; a voice he has no right to recognise himself and a voice he answered but didn't question.

The butt of a gun comes down on Moran's head; knocking him out. The dark haired man behind him grins at me but swiftly moves his attention away.

"Hello John."


	40. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, this is it. The last chapter. I hope you guys have enjoyed reading all this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Thank you all for your support with this, I would have never kept going without it and thank you all for your patience between chapters, it's been a while I know. I am actually crying while writing this little bit because I don't know what I'm going to do now this is finished. I've actually finished it, I can't believe it.
> 
> Seriously though, thank you. I couldn't have done this if I didn't know people were enjoying it and reading it. :)
> 
>  
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John frowns, his back to our saviour, and tries to place the voice as Sherlock unties his hands. Once his hands are free he rips the tape off his mouth, wincing and spins to face Sherlock.

"You!" His tone is angry rather than relieved and the next second his curled fist is flying at Sherlock's face. "You! Left! Me! I! Thought! You! Were! Dead!" John emphasises each word with a punch; some to Sherlock's face and some to his chest.

Sherlock stands there taking the punches and staring blankly at John. He seems to have forgotten about me and the police officer. Only when John stops throwing punches and begins to cry, quietly, does emotion appear in Sherlock's eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Sherlock's words come as a whisper I can't hear; it's only through lip-reading that I can tell what he's saying.

"SORRY!?" John shouts at Sherlock, taking a step back and staring at him as though he can't believe he's there. "You're fucking kidding me." He turns around, running his hands through his hair and staring at me while he mutters under his breath. "I'm guessing you knew all about this?"

He frowns at me and takes a step towards me, releasing me from my ties and pulling me into a tight embrace. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"No, no. I'm fine John. I'm fine."

"But you did know about Sherlock?" He doesn't sound angry, he sounds tired.

He pulls away from me, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking at me intently; whether he is scanning for injury or awaiting my answer I am unsure.

"Yeah, I did. I'm so sorry John. I couldn't tell you, it wasn't my place." I begin to cry; shock, adrenaline and regret washing through me.

"Hey, it's okay." He pulls me back into a hug and rubs my back, talking to me as if I'm a small child. "I understand Ivy. I'm not mad at you."

"Why?" My word is muffled, spoken into his shoulder, but he still responds.

"Because, it was loyalty that stopped you from telling me. And I respect that." He pulls away and checks me over again; this time I recognise the doctor in his mind coming out.

"When you to have stopped with your _utterly touching_ reunion can we get on with the more important matters at hand?" Sherlock's sarcasm is as close to politeness as I have heard him get.

"Oh yes, of course." John slowly stands and helps me out of the chain, holding me steady while Sherlock tends to the police officer. "What are we going to do with him?" John nods his head towards Moran's limp body on the ground.

"I've texted Mycroft. This is more his area of expertise. Since this is clearly a matter of national security." The normal bored tone has returned to Sherlock's voice and the police officer stands; looking between the three of them.

I frown, thinking what will be happening next to everyone rather than focusing on Moran and the DI takes a step closer to me while John regards Sherlock warily.

"Confused?" The DI speaks under his breath to me; voice so quiet I wouldn't be aware that he was talking to me if it wasn't for his proximity and small smile.

"A little." I chuckle softly glancing round at the situation before me and trying to figure out what Sherlock's plans beyond Mycroft are. _Home? Mine or Baker Street? God, what am I meant to do? Maybe I should just leave them alone… I have had sex with John and lived with Sherlock, if they're going to start a relationship they hardly need me around?_ My brow furrows further but my thoughts are interrupted by the DI.

"It's usually like this. Sherlock knows what's going on and nobody else does."

I smile further at this comment and look the police officer in the eye.

"Oh, I know. Trust me, I know."

"When you're quite finished." Sherlock is looking at me, eyebrow raised and a lack of amusement coming off him in waves.

"Okay, what are we doing?" I move towards him in an arc, trying to avoid going near Moran for a reason I haven't entirely formed.

"Is it not obvious?" It's my turn to raise my eyebrow. "Oh god, I forget you lot have tiny, boring little minds sometimes; how do you cope with the boredom?" You are not doing anything. DI Lestrade and I will take Moran to the street while John will help you down. There's a police car waiting for us downstairs and, once Mycroft has arrived, I will drive the three of you to hospital; you're probably in shock and you, Ivy, are most definitely in need of some medical care."

John puts an arm round my waist as Lestrade and Sherlock move to pick up Moran. Lestrade produces a set of handcuff and restrains Moran easily; his arms limp in his unconscious state.

"I'll look at you while we wait for Mycroft, I'm sure you're fine."

We make our way slowly down the stairs and John talks to me the whole way, most of the time about nothing in particular and I know he's just trying to stop me drifting off until I've been checked over.

We reach the bottom of the stairs and exit the building to see Mycroft waiting for us stood between the police car and the cab; umbrella in his hand. At the end of the road is a sleek black limousine. A car even I associate with Mycroft's near kidnappings, unfortunately, from past experiences.

"Nice to see you again; Miss Eventide, Dr Watson." He barely inclines his head to both of us and we reply in the same manner. "Well, Sherlock. I must say I wasn't quite expecting to see you today. How are you brother?"

"More concerned about Ivy and Moran than exchanging pleasantries, as you must well know Mycroft. Where's the van?"

"The van Sherlock?"

"Yes, the van. The van that will take away this well-known criminal who has definitely assisted with murders and committed kidnappings." He gestures towards me with one elegant wave of his arm. "And who has most likely committed a few muders himself. That van." Sherlock speaks as if to a child, as always when he is speaking to Mycroft and I let out a small giggle.

"Something funny Miss Eventide?" I shake my head at Mycroft but giggle again at the name 'Miss Eventide'. _I'm Miss Eventide to my pupils, not to the brother of my ex?-room-mate._

"The van, Mycroft?"

"Oh yes, no, he'll be coming with me. We're going to give him a…" Mycroft pauses looking cautiously across at DI Lestrade before continuing. "Special treatment before we have him sent off and locked up. Quite appropriate after his little escapade with Miss Eventide don't you think? Help me get him into the car would you Dr Watson?" He smiles sweetly as John releases me from him embrace and warily steps away from me, watching me for wobbles as he goes.

They head towards the limousine and I can see Mycroft talking earnestly to John; probably convincing him to let Sherlock move back into Baker Street. Mycroft climbs into the car and it drives off, leaving the four of us stood on the side of the road with an abandoned cab and a police car.

John returns to us and without a word marches up to Sherlock. Before Sherlock can say a word John takes his head in his hands and kisses him softly. Trying to hide my smile as Sherlock responds, I blush and look away as DI Lestrade does the same.

We share a giggle and turn our backs on the new couple, giving them some privacy.

I let out a long sigh of relief as the adrenaline in my blood evaporates now Moran is safely away from me and that I know that sacrificing John's feelings was the right thing to do. My mind is satisfied but my body is exhausted.

My legs turn to jelly underneath my body. My head spins and I can feel myself falling but can do nothing to stop it. I tense, expecting to hit the pavement but instead I collapse into a pair of strong arms and am engulfed in a soft but masculine scent. Looking up I see the DI grinning down at me as he pulls me upright; holding on to me for a few more seconds than necessary.

"I don't think I introduced myself properly earlier. I'm DI Greg Lestrade."

I smile back, biting my lip and out of the corner of my eye I see John point subtly at me and whisper something to Sherlock.

"Hi, I'm Ivy Eventide. Pleased to meet you."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> Oh god, that's it, it's finished... I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE NOW! OH MY GOD! As always, if you have opinions, please tell me! And if there's any grammatical mistakes or continuity mistakes please tell me those too.
> 
> Thank you again! (I love you all!)

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a three chapter fic and has developed into something more. It's not quite finished and the last chapters may take a while due to school work. Sorry about that.  
> EDIT: This is now a complete fic although could do with a bit of editing.


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